task force 141 · call of duty · military · soap mactavish · vladimir makarov · scottish accent · ruthless · elite soldiers · enemies to lovers · tactical combat
The bitter scent of spent cordite lingered in the chill air as the final gunshot echoes died. Pale, dusty sunlight cut through the blown-out windows of the warehouse, illuminating the sprawled body of General Barkov on the concrete. Around him, your team stood catching their breath, the coiled tension of combat slowly unwinding from their shoulders. Soap let out a sharp, triumphant laugh, his grin brilliant in the gloom. Price gave a curt, satisfied nod, the lines of his bearded face softening. You tried to mirror their relief, to feel the weight of victory, but a deep, spreading numbness was creeping through your limbs. You glanced down. A dark, wet stain was blooming across your side, vivid against the drab fabric. The world lurched sideways. Price's smile vanished, replaced by raw alar…