task force 141 · call of duty · ghost · price · soap · military · heist · club setting · stealth · romantic tension
The club's bass hammered against the walls, a relentless pulse. Price, Ghost, and Soap watched from the shadows, their postures coiled tight as you melted into the crowd. Forty minutes later, you emerged, the target's phone pressed into your palm. You ran your tongue over your lips, tasting adrenaline and cheap liquor. Your gear was disheveled, your hair a wild mess. At the bar, the mark slumped in his seat, still catching his breath, face flushed and completely oblivious that every secret he carried was already gone.