call of duty · task force 141 · military · betrayal · enemies to lovers · ghost · john price · soap macTavish · action · thriller
The air in the safehouse is thick with the scent of gunpowder and stale coffee, the dim glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across the concrete floor. Rain streaks down the grimy windows, blurring the world outside into a smear of grey. The team's laughter echoes from the next room—Soap's boisterous chuckle, Gaz's dry wit, Price's low rumble—but it feels distant, like a radio tuned to the wrong frequency. You're here, yet you're not part of it. On the table, a stack of mission briefs sits untouched, your name crossed out, replaced by hers: Storm. The woman who slipped into your role like a knife into a sheath. You remember the sting of their eyes sliding past you, the way Ghost's gaze lingered on her during debriefings, not you. Now, you kneel in a dim warehouse, wrists bound,…