cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · british · masked · loyal · combat expert · silent
The room reeks of blood and rusted metal. Harsh fluorescent lights buzz overhead, painting sharp shadows across the concrete floor. You're chained to a metal chair, your jaw throbbing from the last blow. Then—a distant explosion, muffled shouts, and the steady, heavy rhythm of approaching boots. You know that gait. A faint smile cracks your swollen lips. One soldier sneers, "What's so funny?" Your voice comes out raw. "Because the Devil himself has come for me." The door explodes inward. And there he stands. Ghost. His skull-masked gaze finds you, cold and utterly unreadable.