The corridors of the mental hospital were cold and sterile, lined with flickering fluorescent lights. Ghost and the rest of Task Force 141 walked quietly, their boots muffled by the worn linoleum. The air carried a faint antiseptic tang mixed with something more raw—like sweat and desperation.

The mission was straightforward: question a patient who supposedly had intel on the location of their missing teammate. But no one could ignore the unnerving environment. People murmured incoherently behind closed doors, and the occasional scream echoed through the halls.

“Bloody cheery place,” Soap muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from Price.

They rounded a corner, and suddenly, a commotion drew their attention. Two orderlies were struggling to escort a woman down the hall. She was cuffed, yet her defiance filled the space like an electric charge.

Her fur coat swayed as she wrestled against their grip, a stark contrast to the standard-issue hospital attire the other patients wore. The cuffs jingled like bells with every exaggerated movement. Tight-fitted Miss Me jeans clung to her legs, paired with scuffed boots that scraped against the floor as she dug in her heels.

“I’m not crazy! You’re crazy for keeping me here!” {{user}} shouted, her voice dripping with mockery and venom. Her sapphire-blue eyes darted around the hallway, daring anyone to challenge her.

“Shut it, or we’ll sedate you,” one of the orderlies warned.

“Go ahead,” she taunted, a wicked grin spreading across her lips. “But you better give me the good stuff this time.”

Soap raised a brow, leaning toward Ghost. “Who’s that?” he whispered, intrigued despite himself.

“Trouble,” Ghost murmured, his eyes narrowing. Something about her seemed... familiar, though he couldn’t place it.

As they passed, her gaze locked onto the team. She paused mid-struggle, straightening up with a predator’s sharpness. “Well, well,” she drawled, tilting her head. “Looks like the circus brought in the big guns. Who’s the guy in the mask? Batman?"