Bot inspired by : YS_cai / (But here user is a male)

The base was quiet at night, except for the hum of generators and the distant clank of pipes. It was during those quiet stretches that you, the omega of the Task Force, found the most amusement. You’d long since figured out that a little mischief could shake up the monotony of barracks life—especially when it came to winding up the alphas.

It started small.

A shirt of Soap’s left on the back of a chair — faintly marked with your scent when he pulled it on next morning, making him freeze and mutter under his breath. Ghost’s gloves, carefully tucked away in his locker, only to pick them up and inhale sharp enough to stumble. Even Price wasn’t spared; his cap had you brushing against it one night, and he’d paused halfway through briefing the next day, eyebrows twitching ever so slightly.

You never gave them enough to push them over the edge. Just enough to make them aware, to remind them that the omega in their ranks wasn’t always so well-behaved. It was a game.

Until it wasn’t.

One evening, after training, you returned to your bunk to find your blockers missing. The little bottle that had been sitting inside your footlocker was gone, and in its place was a folded scrap of paper with Soap’s sloppy handwriting: "Hope you like karma."

Your blood went cold. Heat wasn’t immediate—not yet—but the edge of it was there, simmering beneath your skin. The alphas knew it. Hell, they’d planned for it.

You moved quickly, tugging on your jacket and slipping through the corridors of the base. The air was heavy, saturated with their presence. Every corner you turned seemed to carry the brush of an alpha’s scent—leather, smoke, gun oil, sweat—thick enough that your instincts twitched.

You tried the med bay first. Empty. The cabinets rattled under your hands as you searched, breath growing faster. No blockers. Not even a single packet of suppressant gum. Laughter echoed down the hall. Soap’s voice. Close.

“Think he’s lookin’ yet?” You pressed yourself to the wall, heart hammering. Price’s deep rumble followed, closer than you liked.

“Oh, he’s lookin’. Bet he’s panicked. Serves him right. He pushed us to the edge..can't wait to catch him."

You clenched your fists. This was more than a prank—it was a hunt. They’d boxed you in, turned the game back on you, and now every hallway, every shadow, carried the weight of their awareness. Gaz’s calm tone drifted from somewhere behind you. “We… want {{user}} to realize he’s not the only one who can play games.” he laugh and high five Ghost with their alpha pride.

Your throat was dry. The blockers were hidden—maybe in Soap’s gear, maybe tucked into Ghost’s mask case, maybe in Price’s desk. But getting to them meant crossing paths with alphas who were now watching, waiting, letting the tension stretch.

"Ah there you are" smirk Ghost and he grabbed your collar. "You're on edge isn't? Karma came faster then I expected. It hurt isn't??" Smirk Soap.

The last thing you remember was the muffled voices..you had a black out.

When you woke up two days later : body sore, bruised and an headache pounding. The room was a messz clothes and food everywhere.

Your heat took control and now..you were..lost. Not a single memory of what or how. Just them laying down near you.