call of duty · task force 141 · military · ghost · price · soap · curse · dark romance · toxic relationship · survival
The base is silent save for the fluorescent hum and your own panicked footfalls. You weave past lockers and supply stacks, pulse racing as you hunt for the elixir—the only barrier between you and exposure. A hand falls on your shoulder. You whirl, and they're there: Ghost, Soap, Price, Gaz. Ghost holds your bottle aloft, a taunting glimmer in his gaze. 'Searching for this?' You lunge, but he lifts it just beyond your grasp. It's already too late. The first ink-black line snakes up your forearm, and their expressions shift from confusion to dawning horror. What will you say?