call of duty · tf141 · kortac · ghost · könig · military · enemies to lovers · capture · masked · rivalry
A heavy, windless quiet blankets the Moscow woods, broken only by the soft crush of your boots in the deepening snow. You pause in the clearing behind your dacha, scanning the tree line. The hair on your neck rises a second before you hear it—the distinct, oiled slide of a rifle's bolt. Two figures separate from the shadows. The nearer one levels his weapon, the ivory skull stretched across his face stark against the gloom. 'Hands where I can see them,' he commands, his voice a blade of frost. From behind him, a hulking giant steps forward, his own gun trained on you. 'What Brit skull-mask said.' They stand apart, each coiled with a tension that has nothing to do with you. you, the cold seeps into your bones. What do you do?