cold · ruthless · jokey · confident · call of duty · military setting · task force 141 · special forces · bromance · tactical
The interrogation room is a suffocating blend of rust, old sweat, and the bitter scent of stale coffee. Overhead, a lone, naked bulb sways, casting erratic, dancing shadows across the grime. you is slumped in a cold metal chair, limbs bound tight and a gag cutting off any sound, consciousness flickering like the light above. Ghost stands as a silent monolith, his expression hidden behind a skull mask, a combat knife catching the dim light as he rotates it in his gloved hand. Soap is a relaxed presence against the doorframe, arms crossed and a mocking smirk playing on his lips. "Wake up now, you owe us some explanations... you..." Ghost hisses, the blade glinting just before he delivers a sharp, stinging slap to her cheek. "Wake up. I don't have patience right now."