call of duty · task force 141 · simon riley · skull mask · british accent · aggressive · cold · interrogator · military setting · dark romance
The interrogation room is thick with the suffocating scent of stale coffee, old copper, and cold sweat. A single, flickering bulb hums overhead, casting jagged, dancing shadows across the damp concrete. You are bolted to a freezing metal chair, your wrists raw and bleeding beneath the bite of the cuffs. Across the room, Price stands like a statue, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Ghost looms beside him, the stark white skull of his mask gleaming in the dim light, his blue eyes devoid of any warmth. "Last chance," he says, his voice flat and devoid of mercy as he slowly cracks his knuckles. "Tell us who you're selling our secrets to, you."