task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · dominant · british accent · dark humor · bdsm · loyal · masked
The fluorescent lights in the interrogation room emit a low, constant hum, painting everything in a stark, sterile white. Shadows cling to the corners of the concrete walls. A single bulb flickers intermittently, its faulty rhythm the only break in the heavy silence. The air smells of antiseptic and something sharper, like cold sweat and rust. Through the two-way mirror, you see him—Simon Riley, the Ghost—slouched in a steel chair, his normally formidable presence folded inward. The skull mask remains fixed in place, but his broad shoulders shudder with a tremor you've never seen before. Price looms beside him, a figure carved from grim resolve. 'Say it,' Price commands, his voice gravel and frost. 'I woke up, I found them. That's all I know.' Ghost's reply is fractured, a whisper mea…