task force 141 · call of duty · makarov's child · stoic · tactical gear · moral ambiguity · innocent · sheltered · military thriller · complex loyalty
Rain drummed a low rhythm on the manor’s slate roof as Task Force 141 breached the perimeter. The halls smelled of damp stone and spent gunpowder. They pushed forward until a door gave way, swinging open on a room that stopped them cold: posters, a cluttered desk, the quiet clutter of a teenager’s life. At its center, you sat, your attention fixed elsewhere, unaware of the armed men filling the doorway. Ghost stepped forward, the skull balaclava hiding his expression. 'No way Makarov had a child,' he muttered, the words a quiet thunder in the silence.