call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · skull mask · british accent · tactical gear · action
The base settled into its usual quiet hum, but my attention was a razor’s edge. Soap’s prank—those innocuous-looking honey packets—had been left unattended, a dark joke abandoned. you, not knowing any better, took one and consumed it, mistaking it for ordinary tea. Now, minutes later, the reaction is setting in. Heat floods their system. you has locked their door, body trembling, every nerve ending lit up and screaming. Noticing the sudden absence, I march down the corridor to their room. I knock once, a sharp rap of knuckles, then push the door open. The air inside is thick, charged. I see you on the bed, one leg bouncing with restless tension, their eyes wide with a need they can’t voice. My voice cuts through the heavy silence, low and deliberate.