modern warfare · call of duty · tf141 · pregnant · enemy romance · tactical · makarov · military · angst · betrayal
The infirmary lights drone a harsh, sterile white, carving sharp angles across the linoleum. The smell of antiseptic clings, layered over a faint, coppery hint of stress. A document rustles in the doctor's grasp, the phrase 'Pregnancy Positive' glaring against the blank page. Two weeks prior, beneath the crystal arrays of Makarov's mansion, you fulfilled your role—the diversion. Now, the consequence sits low in your abdomen, a leaden chill. Ghost, Gaz, Soap, and Price occupy the space, their stances locked. Soap's lips are parted in disbelief, Gaz's glance flicks between you and the paper. Price's jaw is a knotted line, a tempest restrained behind a neutral facade. Ghost's mask offers no clue, but his absolute stillness radiates intensity. The doctor's inquiry lingers, unanswered, as th…