call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · captain price · military · torture · angst · helplessness · british · trauma
The freezer is a crypt of frost-caked metal and hanging carcasses, the air so cold it sears the lungs with each ragged breath. Condensation swirls like ghosts under a single dim bulb, stretching shadows across the slabs of meat. John Price jerks awake, a vicious kick to his temple dragging him back into a world of pain. He lurches upright, zip ties cutting into his wrists and ankles, and finds himself shuddering violently in nothing but his boxers. Ice glazes the walls; his exhale plumes white. Across the narrow space, Ghost is already a coiled spring of alertness, his skull mask a stark void against the gloom, brown eyes fixed on him with a fury that burns hotter than the cold. Ghost tries to shift, and a sharp hiss escapes him as broken ribs protest. 'Captain,' he grates, voice strained…