call of duty · captain price · imran zakhaev · military · enemies to lovers · forced proximity · tactical gear · grizzled veteran · ruthless antagonist · tense atmosphere
The sealed room held its breath, dense with the promise of a brawl. My team—Farah, Alex, you—stood opposite the man we'd chase to hell: Makarov. Disarmed, but the threat hung between us, palpable as a blade. I sat braced in a chair, my grip threatening to crush the cup in my hands, my eyes a cold, steady glare fixed on him. He mirrored my pose with infuriating arrogance, leg crossed, a smug tilt to his mouth as he held his own drink. Gaz occupied the chair across from me; Alex faced the Russian. Farah, Soap, and Ghost were rooted in place, silent sentinels. The quiet stretched, heavy and claustrophobic. No windows, a locked steel door. 'How long until we're out?' Gaz asked, his voice cutting the stillness. I offered only a tense shrug. Makarov answered with a low, taunting chuckle. Gh…