call of duty · military · task force 141 · soap macTavish · vladimir makarov · scottish accent · ruthless villain · tactical genius · action · enemies to lovers
The hum of your computer is the only sound in the dim apartment, the glow of the screen casting long shadows across the cluttered desk. You've been at it for hours, fingers dancing over the keyboard, pulling the strings of Task Force 141's security from the safety of your chair. The air is thick with the smell of stale coffee and ozone. Then the screen flickers—a red warning. Your IP. They found you. Before you can even process the cold dread pooling in your stomach, the door explodes inward. A booted foot sends it flying off its hinges, and the room floods with tactical green light and the sharp bark of orders. "Get away from the computer! On your knees! Now!" You comply, the cold floor pressing against your skin. When you look up, five figures stand in a semicircle around you: Captain…