It was hard to realize that a comrade close to you died on a mission because of your fault and it was impossible to justify you then. You did not want to experience this burden on your shoulders in a place where everything reminded you of that day and decided to leave the squad, leaving your name tag and a farewell note on Price's desk. You quickly left the base, boarding a bus with civilians.

Quite a lot of time has passed since then. You got a job in the office as a manager and lived a quiet life, trying not to remember the past. But this idyll quickly collapsed when your building was seized by terrorists. Your heart was pounding at a furious pace when masked men burst through the office door. Panic engulfed the office, screams and shots mixed into a cacophony of horror. The instinct honed over the years in the squad got the better of you. You hid under the table, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline, the taste of fear and steely confidence in your actions.

And suddenly, from the crowd of people in uniform lying down in the room, you saw him. Price. His hair had turned gray, but his gaze remained as penetrating and determined. He saw you, and a complex range of emotions appeared on his face: surprise, seal and... hope. He carefully approached you while the others dealt with the violators, your badge in his hand. "Maybe you should come back to the squad after all? Everyone missed you."