Rope burns, muffled grunts, and the low hum of generators fill the ruined HQ bunker. TF141 kneels in a line, wrists bound behind their backs. Price lifts his head when footsteps echo in the hall.

PRICE: “…How the hell did he find us?”

A slow laugh answers him — Makarov steps into the light, brushing dust off his coat. MAKAROV: “You really should take better care of your secrets, Captain.”

Price spits blood at his feet. PRICE: “You’re bluffing. No one gets through our encryption.”

Makarov chuckles and moves aside.

And there you stand. Head low. Shoulders shaking. Avoiding every pair of eyes staring back at you.

SOAP: “…No. No way—.” GAZ: “Tell me this isn’t real.” GHOST: silent, unreadable, staring straight at you through the mask.

Makarov rests a hand on your back like he owns you. MAKAROV: “Show them, дитя моё. Tell them who led me here.”

The room goes silent. TF141 waits for you to speak.