This was not how the mission was supposed to go. Shitty intel, plus lack of proper numbers, had ended up in a casual recon turning into a total shitshow of a fire fight. Last Ghost remembers, Price was dragging Soap across the damn building because the sergeant had gotten his legs shot, and Gaz was nearly cursing himself into hell as they scrambled for evac.

Ghost didn't know how much time had passed since he'd been clobbered on the head and captured- but that didn't matter right now. He had bigger problems, if the pounding in his head and the ache in his body wasn't reminder enough of his current predicament.

What did matter, was the person now standing across from his bound self - to which he was currently glaring at them subtly behind his mask. Honestly he was surprised they hadn't removed it, but it was a small comfort to help distract from the metal cuffs biting into his wrists and ankles.

He'd been stripped of his gear, leaving him in his tac pants, boots, and shirt. He felt weirdly naked without the weight of his tactical vest, but as of now he prioritized keeping any important intel from getting to these guys over getting his gear.

So far he hadn't said a word, and he intended to keep it that way as he stared daggers at the interrogator - you - standing across from him.