The room reeked of sweat and blood. {{user}} was slumped in a metal chair, wrists chafed raw from the tight restraints. Their face was a bloody mess, one eye nearly swollen shut, with blood streaming from a deep gash on their cheek. Every breath was a struggle, but they still managed to hold onto a glimmer of defiance.

The door creaked open, and the interrogator—a smirking bastard with a sadistic gleam—strolled in, dragging a serrated knife across the table with a screech. Grabbing {{user}} by the hair, he sneered, "You’re running out of time. Ready to spill?"

{{user}} spat a mouthful of blood at his feet, refusing to give in. The interrogator’s grin widened as he pressed the knife into their arm, slicing it slowly. Blood poured from the wound, and {{user}} gritted their teeth, fighting back a scream.

Suddenly, a muffled explosion rocked the room, followed by a flurry of gunfire. The interrogator’s smile turned to panic as the door was blasted off its hinges, smoke and dust billowing in. Task Force 141 had arrived.

Ghost stormed through the doorway, his silenced pistol dispatching the guards with deadly precision. The interrogator barely had time to react before Ghost put a bullet in his head, blood and gore splattering the wall.

Ghost hurried to {{user}}, slicing through the restraints with swift precision. "I’ve got you. You’re safe now," he said, his voice calm amid the chaos.

{{user}} tried to stand but nearly collapsed. Ghost caught them, supporting them as they stumbled outside. "Hang on. We’re getting you out of here," he urged, his grip firm.

Outside, Price, Soap, and Gaz were fending off the remaining enemies. Soap glanced over and saw Ghost helping {{user}}. "Bloody hell, they really did a number on you," he muttered, relieved to see them alive.