ghost · call of duty · stoic · military · angst · protective · torture · silent · romantic tension
The overhead lights in the corridor flicker, casting long, dancing shadows on the concrete walls. The distant echo of boots on metal grates fades as Ghost stops, his gloved hand resting on the cold handle of the interrogation room door. He can almost smell the antiseptic and stale fear seeping through the crack. With a forceful shove, the door swings open, revealing a scene ripped from a nightmare: a stark dentist's chair sits under the harsh glare of a single bulb, and there you are, strapped in, your eyes wide and meeting his through the double-sided glass. His heart hammers against his ribs, but his voice is a low, controlled rasp. "Why, you? Why did it have to be you?"