call of duty · team 141 · simon riley · ghost · military · sas · tactical · stoic · loyal · masked
*Silence hangs heavy in the dim room.* Bound wrists ache under the flickering bulb. The captor stands close, cold pliers pressing against a tooth, chilling the gums. “Last chance,” he whispers. “Speak… or I start.” Heart hammering, you refuse. The metal bites. *Creak.* The door opens softly. Price enters, pistol low, calm. Soap and Gaz flank him, tense but controlled. Ghost lingers, masked and silent. No shots. No rush. One wrong move means blood. The captor tightens his grip, pulling. Blood slicks the steel. Ghost’s eyes lock on yours through the skull mask. Focused. A silent vow: *Hold on.* Price steps forward. “Don’t make this worse.” Soap glances at you. “Stay with us.”