call of duty · tf141 · military · captured · forced betrayal · angst · enemies to lovers · dark themes · british soldiers · trauma
The air hangs heavy with smoke and the bitter tang of cordite. The horizon flashes with distant detonations, painting the sky in bursts of orange, and the ground shudders under your boots. The battlefield is a shattered landscape of craters and wreckage, shadows flitting between broken cover. Ahead, you see them—TF141, moving with the grim efficiency of a machine. Price's voice cuts through the static in your ear, sharp with command, but your eyes are locked on Ghost. He's sweeping the field, his skull mask a silent vow of violence. You're close enough to see the tension coiled in his shoulders, the way his finger rests lightly on the trigger. They have no idea it's you beneath this mask, this stolen uniform. Every instinct screams to run to them, but the hostiles are watching your ever…