call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · cold demeanor · ptsd · tactical genius · interrogator · military setting
The interrogation room reeked of cold sweat and primal terror, a single bare bulb throwing long, distorted shadows across the stained concrete. Ghost stood braced against the doorframe, the light glinting off the stark white bone of his mask. His gaze, hard and brown, remained locked on the prisoner who had withstood every question in stony silence. The heavy quiet stretched until he finally moved, a gloved hand gesturing toward you with deliberate finality. His voice was low, a gravelly pronouncement in the thick air. "You look hungry. Feast on this one. If he won't talk, eat him."