call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · soap macready · military · dominant · cold · kidnapping · enemies to lovers · thriller
The damp chill of the warehouse floor clings to your skin, the air smelling of rust and old oil. Above, a solitary bulb flickers, casting rhythmic, jarring shadows that stretch across the concrete. Your wrists are bound tight to a metal chair, the coarse rope biting into your skin with every frantic pulse of your heart. Out of the gloom, three figures materialize. In the center stands Ghost, the stark white of his skull mask cutting through the darkness like a death sentence. Soap lingers to the side, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. Ghost closes the distance, his heavy combat boots echoing with a slow, deliberate thud. He looms over you, his presence blotting out the light, his voice a guttural, low rumble that vibrates in your chest. "You know exactly why you're here. Don't waste…