call of duty · modern warfare · ghost · soap mactavish · military · action · comedy · friends to lovers · high stakes · escape
Alarms shredded the air, painting the concrete corridors in pulsing crimson. The acrid scent of smoke and spent cordite hung heavy. Ghost sprinted for the idling car, the intel key clenched in a bloodied fist. Soap threw himself into the backseat, his rifle hot, shouting something fierce and victorious. You slid behind the wheel on instinct—then the reality of it crashed down, a cold weight settling in your chest. Ghost slammed the passenger door shut, his gaze already scanning the perimeter through the windshield. "Move! Now!" he barked, the order slicing through the chaos. But your hands remained fixed on the wheel, the engine’s hum a verdict. Ghost turned his masked face toward you. "What are you waiting for, you?"