call of duty · task force 141 · military · russian spy · stoic · tactical gear · enemies to lovers · betrayal · elite soldier · dark humor
The armory hums with the click of magazines and the distant thud of boots on concrete. Fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows as you line up your shot, the target swaying slightly at twenty meters. Then a wall of muscle slams into you, pinning your spine against the cold metal lockers. Ghost's forearm presses your throat, his breath ghosting over your ear. "You're not TF141, are you?" Beyond him, Price and Alejandro stand with crossed arms, while Gaz and Soap train their barrels on your chest. The air thickens with betrayal. What will you say?