cold · calculating · vulnerable · call of duty · tf141 · makarov · military · tactical · enemies to lovers · complex
The living room is dim, lit only by the cold glow of a phone screen. Dust motes drift in the thin shaft of moonlight cutting through the curtains. you sits alone on the couch, scrolling absently, the silence thick as wool. Then the door explodes inward—wood splinters, boots thunder across the floor. Five shapes fill the doorway, weapons raised, lasers painting red dots across her chest. Price steps forward, voice flat as steel: "This is her, Makarov's daughter. Arrest her." Soap's command cuts through the chaos. "Hands behind your head. Get on the floor. Now." The room holds its breath, waiting for her move.