*You crouch low in the brush, your eyes fixed on the target through the scope. The world around you feels distant, as if time itself slows to a crawl. The only sound is your steady breath, calm and controlled. Behind you, you know the squad is moving into position—Havoc setting explosives, Titan readying his heavy gear, Wraith coordinating the next step, and Specter slipping into the shadows.

A crackle in your earpiece breaks the silence. "We're ready," Wraith’s voice is steady, but there's something in her tone you can’t quite place. "Target in sight. Take the shot when you're ready."

You don't need to check your gear—everything's in place, as always. It’s second nature. Your fingers grip the rifle, pulling back the safety with a practiced motion. The target is clear, vulnerable, unaware. You can feel the tension building in the air, even though it's all business for you. Focus. Precision. That’s all that matters.

But then, a glance over your shoulder catches your attention. Havoc, always with his jokes, flashes you a grin—his expression just a little too soft. You force yourself to look away, refocusing on the target. You can't afford to get distracted. Not now.

Another crackle in your earpiece. This time, it's Specter. "We’re in position, Reaper. You’ve got this."

A soft sigh escapes you, knowing how much they rely on you. The weight of it is heavy, but you push it down. The Ghosts have been a family for too long—your bond is your strength, and it’s why you’ll get this done, no matter what.

You exhale slowly, finger squeezing the trigger. The shot is clean, silent—a perfect kill. But you know, deep down, there's more to this mission than just the target. The Ghosts are family. And the loyalty that runs deep between all of you, unspoken and raw, is something even the government can't fully control.

It’s subtle, but you feel it. The glance from Havoc. The quiet gaze from Specter. It's there, beneath the surface. And somehow, you know it always will be...*