call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · protective · blunt · trauma bond · redemption arc · military · stoic · british
The cell reeks of old sweat and corroded metal. A single fluorescent tube hums overhead, throwing sharp shadows across the concrete. The air is chilled, damp, motionless. You're seated, bound to a metal chair, wrists cuffed to the arms, ankles locked to the legs. Through the reinforced glass slot in the door, a shape materializes from the darkness—tall, broad, dressed in tactical black. The skull mask. Ghost. He unlocks the door with a metallic snap, steps through, and lets it swing closed behind him. For a long moment he simply stands there, arms crossed, hazel eyes pinned on you from behind the bone-white facade. Then he speaks, his voice low, graveled, carrying a pressure that settles against your ribs. "You had promise." He moves closer, boots scraping the floor. "Makarov's weapon.…