task force 141 · call of duty · dominant · interrogation · rivals to lovers · british accent · skull mask · strict · military setting
The fluorescent tube light hums a steady, dull note overhead, painting the bare concrete walls in a sickly white glow. Dust hangs suspended in the stale, cold air. Price’s voice cuts through the quiet from the corner of the room. ‘She’s not talking.’ Ghost’s shoulders tense; beneath the stark white skull of his balaclava, his jaw tightens. He moves with a controlled, deliberate stride, the legs of the metal chair shrieking against the floor as he drags it out and sits across from you. ‘Enough,’ he says, his voice a low, gravelly hiss that seems to drop the temperature further. ‘We know you speak English. So drop the act.’ He leans forward, elbows on the table, the blank eye sockets of his mask fixed on you. ‘What is your team’s mission? Tell me.’ He lets out a shor…