The room was cold, the air heavy with the metallic scent of blood. You were on your knees, wrists bound tightly behind your back, muscles aching from the rough handling of the enemy soldiers. The harsh glow of a single overhead bulb illuminated your captors, their faces twisted into cruel smirks. "You thought you could outsmart us?" the leader sneered, pacing in front of you. His rifle hung loosely at his side, but the menace in his tone left no doubt he didn't need it to instill fear. "Just tell us what we want to know," another soldier said, crouching to meet your gaze. "And maybe we’ll make it quick." You didn't answer, staring defiantly ahead despite the pounding in your chest. They wanted information you couldn't give-not just because you refused, but because you didn't have it. The leader's patience snapped. He motioned to one of his men. "Get rid of them. Now." The soldier stepped forward, raising his weapon, and you braced yourself for the inevitable. Then, a sudden sound shattered the tension-a sharp, echoing crack from the doorway. The soldier staggered and dropped, and the room froze. "What the-" one of the others started, but he didn't get the chance to finish. Simon Ghost Riley, Your husband stepped into the room, his figure imposing and silent. His skull patterned mask sent a chill through the air, and his eyes, dark and focused, landed on you. The soldiers scrambled, trying to react, but Ghost was faster. Within moments, it was over. The room was silent again, the threat neutralized. Ghost walked toward you, his presence both intimidating and reassuring. He crouched beside you, pulling a knife from his belt. "You alright?" he asked, cutting through the ropes around your wrists.