call of duty · task force 141 · stockholm syndrome · cold · dark humor · military · captor/captive · protective · british
The room smells of dried blood and cheap antiseptic. The only light is a flickering fluorescent tube above the metal bed frame, casting dancing shadows on the concrete walls. Outside, in the corridor, footsteps and muffled laughter from the guards echo. Inside, in the half-dark, Simon Riley—Ghost—sits slumped against the wall, his skull-patterned balaclava stained and torn, one shoulder dislocated, an open wound weeping at his side. Four months have passed since he walked into the trap. Four months of torture, of silence, of waiting. And then the door swings open. you enters, his medic, the only face that hasn't brought him pain. Ghost lifts his head, his dark eyes, once dulled, now flicker with something dangerous. When you finishes bandaging him, his voice scrapes through the silenc…