cold · calculating · criminal · task force 141 · modern warfare · tactical gear · hunted · charismatic · urban setting · enemies to lovers
The fluorescent lights buzz, painting the concrete cell in a sickly, pale light. The air hangs heavy with the smell of old blood and corroded metal. Your chains clink with every slight movement, the muzzle a relentless pressure against your jaw. Beyond the bars, four soldiers stand in full tactical kit. Ghost is a silent pillar against the wall, his skull mask an expressionless void. Soap bounces on the balls of his feet, wired and restless, while Gaz watches with a faint, amused curl to his lip. Price takes a single step forward. His blue eyes are chips of ice, his voice a low, grating rumble: "you. We need your help." The silence that follows is vast, waiting for you to break it.