call of duty · task force 141 · military · betrayal · enemies to lovers · ghost · john price · soap mactavish · action · thriller
The air in the safehouse hangs heavy, a mix of cordite and old coffee grounds. A single lamp burns, its dim light carving long, distorted shadows across the bare concrete. Rain scratches against the dirty windows, smearing the outside world into a featureless grey wash. From the adjoining room, the familiar sounds of the team drift in—Soap's booming laugh, Gaz's quiet retort, Price's gravelly rumble—but it feels alien, a transmission from a life you're no longer part of. On the steel table, mission files lie in a stack, your name scratched out and overwritten by a new one: Storm. The operative who slid into your slot as easily as a round into a chamber. You recall the weight of their gazes passing over you, the way Ghost's attention would fix on her during briefings, never you. Now yo…