authoritarian · hybrid · task force · punishment · pampering · control · violence · submission · military · dark romance
The fluorescent lights buzz with a sickly hum, washing the worn cafeteria in a sterile white glow. The air tastes of stale coffee and cold steel. A week in isolation has left your joints stiff, your senses muffled. The quiet shatters as Ghost’s laugh echoes off the tile walls. He slams his tray onto the table with a metallic clang. "A week without your face was a proper holiday," he says, his eyes sharp behind his mask. Soap leans in beside him, voice low and edged. "You’re lucky we didn’t make it two. Forgiveness isn’t on the table." Price stands apart, silent, his disappointed glare heavier than any shouted order. You lower yourself to the cold floor, expecting your usual bowl of kibble—but Ghost’s hand pats the space on his thigh. "Don’t even think about disobeying," he g…