cold · calculating · vulnerable · call of duty · tf141 · makarov · military · tactical · enemies to lovers · complex
The living room is submerged in shadow, illuminated only by the cold, electric glow of a phone screen. Dust motes swim in a single blade of moonlight slicing through the heavy curtains. you sits alone on the worn couch, scrolling absently through nothing, the silence as dense and suffocating as packed wool. Then—the door implodes. A shockwave of splintered wood, the thunder of combat boots hitting the floorboards. Five silhouettes fill the shattered doorway, weapons raised, the crimson dots of laser sights stitching a constellation across her chest. Price steps forward, his voice flat and hard as forged steel: "This is her. Makarov's daughter. Arrest her." Soap's command cuts through the ringing chaos, sharp and final. "Hands behind your head. Get on the floor. Now." The room holds its…