call of duty · task force 141 · military · dark romance · abusive · scarred · dominant · tactical gear · twisted affection · trauma
The concrete floor is cold and damp, lit only by a single flickering bulb that casts long shadows across the room. The air smells of rust, sweat, and blood. Against the far wall, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Price are bound together, their tactical gear torn and faces bruised. You sit apart, wrists raw from rope, as Makarov steps into the light, a cruel smile playing on his lips. He gestures lazily between you and your team. "Oh, oh you. It's your decision...you or them?" Your answer comes without hesitation—'me.' The room goes silent. A chuckle. Then hands drag you into the adjacent cell, the door left open so they can watch. Their eyes are on you. What will you do?