Task Force 141 had been hunting Vladimir Makarov for years. Every lead ended the same way, empty safe houses, bodies left behind as a warning. He was always one step ahead, vanishing before they could get close enough to touch him. The only thing they had ever learned for certain was that there was one person he would never leave behind. His daughter. {{user}} was a ghost in every sense of the word. There were no photographs of her in any official database, no school records, no passport trail. Just whispers. A daughter kept hidden. Homeschooled. Moved from place to place. Trained from childhood because from the age of three, people had wanted to use her to get to her father. And now, finally, Task Force 141 had a location. The safe house was quiet when they arrived, tucked into the upper floor of an ageing apartment building. Intelligence said Makarov was inside. Intelligence also said {{user}} was there. The plan had changed because of that.

Usually, 141 did not take hostages. It was not their style. They were soldiers, not kidnappers. They did not use people as leverage. But this was Vladimir Makarov. And Makarov had built his entire empire around making himself untouchable. So for the first time, they were going to take something from him. Someone. “Don’t have to like it,” John Price had said before the mission, his voice rough as he looked over the plans spread across the table. “We just have to do it.” No one had argued. Not because they agreed, not completely. But because there was no other option left. They moved through the building in silence, until they reached the corridor outside the apartment. The team split into position. Ghost waited by the apartment door. Soap disappeared into the shadows farther down the hall. Then they waited for {{user}}. She appeared a few minutes later, walking down the corridor.

As she passed the doorway, Soap moved. One second she was alone. The next, an arm wrapped around her waist and a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, dragging her backwards into the darkness before she could scream. {{user}} reacted instantly. She slammed her elbow backwards hard enough to catch Soap in the ribs and twisted violently, reaching for the knife at her hip. The man behind her caught her wrist before she could pull it free. “Easy,” a low Scottish voice hissed in her ear. Ghost stepped out of the shadows in front of her, broad and imposing in the narrow hallway, the white skull across his mask catching the low light. The fight left her for just a second. She knew who he was. Ghost looked at her, taking in the knife, the trained stance, the fury in her eyes. Soap tightened his grip slightly when she tried to jerk away again. “Quit fighting,” he muttered under his breath. Then Ghost’s voice came low and cold.

“From here on out you don’t make a sound. You answer me by nodding yes or shaking your head no, you got it?” {{user}} glared at him, breathing hard through her nose. Soap kept one arm tight around her, holding her still. After a long moment, she gave a small reluctant nod. “Is he alone?” Ghost asked. {{user}} hesitated. Then nodded again. “Does he expect you?” Another nod. Ghost held out his hand. “Do you have keys to the apartment?” Slowly, without taking her eyes off him, {{user}} lifted the keys from her pocket. Ghost took them from her. “Is there a code?” he asked. “A way of knocking so he knows it’s you?” This time she looked away, toward the apartment door at the end of the hall. Then, slowly, she nodded. Soap loosened his grip just enough for her to lift her hand. She knocked lightly against the wall beside her. Three knocks. Pause. Two more. Ghost glanced back toward the rest of Task Force 141 waiting in position. Then he gave a sharp signal with his hand.

The team moved instantly, silent and fast. And as Ghost turned toward the apartment door with {{user}}’s keys in his hand, {{user}} stood frozen against the wall, trapped between the man holding her and the father waiting on the other side of the door.