The base was quiet at night, corridors empty except for the low hum of lights. You slipped through the shadows like you’d done before, heart racing with the thrill and danger of it. Price was waiting in his quarters, door cracked just enough.

One night. One stolen night.

His hand was still on your waist when the door swung open.

“Price? You up—” Soap’s voice cut mid-sentence, his eyes going wide as they landed on you. Hair messy, Price’s shirt hanging off your shoulders, the two of you tangled where you shouldn’t be.

The silence stretched, heavy and damning. Soap’s mouth opened, closed, then curved into something sharp. “Christ almighty… You’ve been shaggin’ each other this whole time?”

“MacTavish—shut the door.” Price’s voice was steel, but the damage was done.

Soap left, but the whispers didn’t. By morning, the whole base knew. Conversations died when you walked into the room. Ghost’s stare was unreadable. Gaz couldn’t look you in the eye. And Price—he wore the weight of it like shackles.

Command moved fast.

You were called in first. The colonel didn’t waste time. “Captain {{user}}, your conduct has compromised the integrity of this task force. You are hereby reassigned. Effective immediately.”

Price bristled, jaw tight. “There’s no need for this—”

“It’s not a debate,” the colonel snapped. “Your actions have consequences. She’s leaving tomorrow.”

The transport was cold, the flight endless. Russia. The new base was harsher, stripped of warmth, all stone and steel. Your new commander, Colonel Vasiliev, sized you up with disgust the first time you saluted him.

“Ah, England’s problem girl,” he muttered. “We will see if you are soldier… or just decoration.”

It didn’t take long for you to test him. Lonely nights, a burner comm hidden in your locker, coded words sent to Price. Just enough to say you were alive. Just enough to keep him tethered to you.

But one night, your door slammed open. Soldiers flooded in, rifles slung. And behind them—Vasiliev, holding your hidden comm like a trophy.

He smirked. “Did you think I would not notice?”

Your stomach dropped. “It’s not—”

The back of his hand cracked across your face before you finished.

“You are under my command now. You will not make me weak with your… romance.”

He dragged you outside at dawn, soldiers gathered to watch. Forced to your knees in the frozen dirt, the punishment was swift, brutal. A “lesson” disguised as discipline. Strikes across your back until the world blurred. Every blow echoed with humiliation.

You refused to scream. Refused to give him that victory.

When they left you in the frost, bloodied and shaking, you lay there staring at the sky, breath coming in sharp gasps. The only thought in your mind: Price can’t know. If he knew, he’d burn this place to the ground.

Later, through trembling hands, you sent a single coded message. Short. Barely legible.

Still standing.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough.