“Don’t you bloody touch {{user}}.” All your captor could do was chuckle in amusement at the pain his soldiers caused you, the anger and fear that they put in Ghost.

“I-I swear,” You panted, your tears had run dry hours ago, your own blood covered your body and clothes. “I don’t know anything.” You pleaded.

Your captor rolled his eyes, silently gesturing his soldiers to torture you some more. And before Ghost could turn away, a soldier held his chin tightly, making him watch you suffer.