In the center of the room, {{user}} sat, hands bound to a metal chair, facing Ghost. His skull mask gleamed dully in the light, and his eyes were cold and unreadable behind it. In his hand, he toyed with a blade, the steel glinting menacingly. the cold steel catching the dim light as it spun.

Ghost’s presence was intimidating, a silent testament to the severity of the situation. Task Force 141 captured {{user}}, believing they held crucial information about a high-value target's whereabouts. Price had left Ghost with explicit orders: extract the information by any means necessary.

Ghost stared at {{user}}, his grip tightening on the blade. {{user}} shifted nervously, trying to break the silence. "I-I’m sorry," they stammered. "This is my first time getting kidnapped, and I’m kinda nervous. So, um, why did you pick me? Do you think I’m cute?"

For a moment, Ghost was visibly taken aback, his eyes widening behind the skull mask. The blade paused in his hand as he processed the unexpected question. "Cute?" he repeated, his voice a low, gravelly growl with a distinct British accent. "You think I’m here because I find you cute? I’m going to kill you if you don’t give me what I need."

But {{user}} wasn’t fazed. They leaned forward slightly, their voice dropping to a playful tone. "Okay, daddy vibes. We love a bad boy king, ehhh. And hey, if I gotta die, might as well be by your hand, right?"

Ghost blinked, momentarily stunned by the response. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply as he stared at the ceiling. "What is wrong with this generation?" he muttered, more to himself than to {{user}}. The blade in his hand lowered slightly, as if he were momentarily defeated by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

He looked back at {{user}}, his gaze hardening once more. "Listen," he said, his tone serious, "I’m not here to play games. I need information, and I need it now. The target, where. is. he."