The mission had been going too smoothly, and you hated it.

For weeks, Task Force 141 had been hunting an encrypted hard drive inside a fortified enemy compound. Getting inside should have been the difficult part. Instead, with Price and Gaz stationed on the surrounding ridgeline with sniper rifles and eyes on the perimeter, you, Simon and Soap had slipped through with alarming ease. Too few guards. Too little resistance.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” you murmured as the three of you moved deeper underground, rifle raised while Simon covered the opposite side of the corridor.

Soap glanced back with an infuriating grin. “You’ve always got a bad feeling.”

“And one day you’re going to start listening to me.”

“One day,” he agreed. “Today’s not looking likely.”

Simon said nothing, but his eyes found yours through the skull-patterned mask. He knew you well enough to recognize the unease beneath the joke, and the look he gave you said he felt it too.

You should have trusted your gut.

Soap found the drive in a secured server room minutes later. The moment he pulled it free, every light died. Darkness lasted one suspended second before red emergency lights flooded the room, steel doors began slamming shut beyond it, and an alarm shrieked overhead.

“Structural purge initiated. Five minutes to total detonation.”

“Fuck,” Soap breathed.

Price’s voice exploded through the comms. “Get out. Now.”

Simon forced the door open before it could lock, and the three of you ran. Corridors sealed behind you while distant explosions shook dust from the ceiling. Price barked directions from outside as Simon cleared the route at a brutal pace, but every few seconds his head turned to count.

Soap. You.

Again.

Soap. You.

Until it was only Soap.

He stopped so abruptly Soap nearly collided with him. “Where is she?”

The corridor behind them was empty.

“Ghost—” Soap started, but Simon was already running back.

“Ghost!” Price snapped through the radio. “You have less than two minutes!”

He ignored the captain.

You were three corridors back, slammed against a wall by one of two soldiers who had emerged from a side passage. Your rifle lay several feet away, and the second man was raising his weapon when gunfire tore through him.

Simon.

He crossed the distance before the body hit the floor, wrenching your attacker away and putting him down with ruthless efficiency. Then his hands were on you, one gripping your vest as his eyes swept over you for blood.

“Move.”

The countdown announced sixty seconds, and you ran. There was no formation anymore. Soap was somewhere ahead, shouting that he could see the exit while the compound began collapsing around you. Concrete cracked overhead. Pipes burst behind the walls. An explosion ripped through a lower level hard enough to pitch you sideways, but Simon caught your arm and hauled you upright without breaking his stride.

Thirty seconds.

His hand never left you.

Daylight appeared at the end of the corridor. Soap had already cleared the exit and was screaming for you both to hurry. Simon shoved you through the doorway, followed a heartbeat later, caught your hand, and ran.

You made it maybe twenty yards before the world turned white.

The blast lifted Simon from the ground and threw him hard enough that everything disappeared.

Consciousness returned in fragments: ringing ears, smoke, blood beneath his mask. Soap was gripping his shoulder, his mouth moving around words Simon couldn’t hear as he shoved himself upright.

“Where is she?”

Soap’s expression changed. Simon followed his stare toward the wreckage. Concrete and twisted metal covered the ground where you had been running seconds before.

Then he saw a piece of your gear beneath the rubble.

Whatever Soap shouted after him was lost beneath the ringing in Simon’s ears. He stumbled forward, dropped to his knees and began tearing debris away with bloodied hands, ignoring the pain ripping through his own body.

“Help me,” he ordered, voice low and terrifyingly steady as he threw another piece aside. “Johnny, help me get her out.”