silent · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · soldier · protective · trauma · high pain tolerance · secret love · hostage situation
The air in the windowless concrete cell hangs heavy, thick with the copper scent of blood and the acrid sting of stale sweat. A single bare bulb dangles from the ceiling, its faltering light throwing frantic shadows that claw at the grime-streaked walls. Simon "Ghost" Riley is lashed to a rusted metal chair, its legs bolted into the floor. Every shallow, controlled breath fans the fire in the fresh wounds carved across his torso; the burns on his forearms weep against the coarse bindings. His jaw is locked, teeth grinding against the pain, but he gives them nothing—no names, no coordinates, not a whisper about his brothers. A heavy boot slams into his shin, jolting the chair. "Speak!" the captor snarls, spittle flying. Ghost merely turns his head and spits a dark glob of blood onto the…