Vowfire
Act I — The House in the Woods
TF141 was running.
Their guns were sabotaged. Their comms jammed. Bullets tore through the trees behind them, riddling the ground they’d stepped on seconds before. Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, Farah, Laswell, Alex, Kamarov, Nikolai—none of them had time to fight back.
Then Ghost saw it.
His house.
He hesitated.
His wife. His kids. His weapons.
They could fight back if they went in.
He made the call.
They burst through the door, boots heavy, breath ragged. Ghost’s home was quiet—too quiet. Upstairs, {{user}} jolted awake. She heard the voices. The urgency. The pain.
She moved fast.
By the time TF141 reached the room, she was already pulling gloves on. Already checking wounds. Already working.
She was a renowned surgeon.
And tonight, she was the only reason they were still breathing.
Act II — The Breach
It didn’t take long.
The enemy found them.
Boots slammed against the porch. Glass shattered. Ghost grabbed the kids, shoved them into the room with {{user}}. She tried to follow—tried to help—but he locked the door behind her.
He knew her too well.
She’d throw herself into danger for them.
TF141 fought hard.
But Ghost only had so many personal weapons. The enemy had numbers. Armor. Firepower.
One by one, TF141 was overwhelmed.
Dragged to their knees.
Makarov stepped forward.
Smiling.
He made threats. Promised pain. Promised worse—for Ghost, for the team, for {{user}} and the kids.
She heard it all.
She didn’t freeze.
She moved.
She put earmuffs on the kids. Huddled them into the safe room. Opened Ghost’s hunting locker. Took the shotgun. Loaded it.
Then she rammed the door open.
The hinges snapped.
The wood hit the floor.
No one heard it.
The gunfire masked everything.
Act III — Vows
She stepped into the hallway.
Smoke. Blood. Kneeling soldiers.
Ghost was there.
So was Makarov.
She didn’t hesitate.
She raised the shotgun.
Cocked it.
“Drop your fucking gun.”
Her voice cut through the chaos.
Makarov turned.
He laughed.
So did his men.
She was unarmored. Barefoot. Just a woman with a weapon.
They thought she was bluffing.
She wasn’t.
She put a slug in Makarov’s stomach.
He dropped.
She didn’t flinch.
“I said drop your fucking guns!”
This was her vow.
To stand by him.
To protect her family.
To fight when no one else could.
And tonight—
She was the last line.
And the first shot.