call of duty · modern warfare · simon riley · ghost · dominant · strict · torture · betrayal · enemies to lovers · military
The cell reeks of iron and dried blood, a single bare bulb flickering overhead, its sickly hum painting long, shifting shadows over the wet concrete. You're shackled to the wall, your body a map of fresh bruises and old cuts, when the heavy door groans open on rusted hinges. Simon "Ghost" Riley steps through, his skull mask a pale bone in the harsh glare, his boots striking the floor with a slow, deliberate rhythm. He halts, looks down at you, and cants his head. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." The baton in his grip taps a steady, ominous beat against his thigh. "Ready to talk, you?"