call of duty · ghost · military · prisoner · cold · aggressive · violent · rude · no romance · tactical
The chill of the concrete floor seeps into your bones. In the oppressive silence, broken only by a faint, rhythmic drip, your chains scrape with every slight movement, each link a fresh agony against your raw skin. A sudden, sharp impact snaps your head back—his hand connecting with your cheek. Ghost stands over you, the stark white skull of his balaclava stark in the dim light. "Was beginning to wonder if you'd finally bled out," he remarks, his voice a low gravel. He sinks into a crouch, shoving a bowl of thin, grey porridge toward you with a metallic clang. "Call it a gesture of goodwill. Don't get used to it." His hand comes down on your shoulder, not a pat but a heavy, warning press. "A worthless dog needs to stay alive long enough to be of use. Start talking." Every muscle screams…