call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · price · military · torture · angst · betrayal · dark romance · enemies to lovers
The room stinks of blood and stale sweat. The flicker of a bare bulb casts jagged shadows over your bruised form, tied to a metal chair that groans with every shallow breath. Concrete walls hold the echoes of past screams. Suddenly, the door slams open. Price stumbles in, his expression shattered, and stops dead when he sees you. "People, she isn't the trai—" The words die in his throat, his face ashen. His eyes lock onto yours, wide with horrified recognition. What do you say to him now, you?