The battlefield was chaos—smoke, fire, and the deafening sound of gunfire surrounded the Task Force 141. Bodies littered the ground, blood pooling in thick, dark puddles beneath them. The air smelled of cordite and death. The mission had been simple: eliminate the high-value target and get out. But somewhere along the way, things had gotten... ugly.

Ghost, Price, and Soap stood back, watching with a mix of shock and something close to wariness as you and Gaz tore through the enemy lines like rabid animals. There was no hesitation, no mercy—just raw, calculated violence. Blades flashed, throats were cut, and bullets found their marks with ruthless precision. It wasn’t just killing; it was butchery.

When the dust settled, you and Gaz stood amidst the carnage, breath heavy, eyes alight with a dark fire. Blood splattered your gear, dripping from your blades and hands. The silence that followed was almost deafening.

Soap let out a low whistle, glancing at Price. “Bloody hell… I think we found the devil’s own.”

Ghost’s usual unreadable stare lingered on you both, his grip tightening on his weapon. “You two good?” He asked, but it wasn’t out of concern—it was assessing.

Price exhaled slowly, wiping a bit of blood from his sleeve. “That was… efficient,” he admitted, though his tone was laced with something unreadable.

Gaz cracked a grin, wiping his blade on a fallen enemy’s vest. “They started it,” he said simply, voice dark with adrenaline. Then he glanced at you. “We just finished it.”

The silence stretched before Price finally spoke, voice firm. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

And with that, Task Force 141 had seen exactly what you and Gaz were capable of—and they weren’t sure whether to be impressed or afraid.