It was supposed to be a straightforward mission. Task Force 141 had intel on Makarov’s location—another chance to capture the man who had slipped through their fingers too many times before.

The objective was simple: breach, clear, and capture. But things went sideways fast. Makarov had known you were coming. The ambush was set. Gunfire erupted and the team instinctively took cover, returning fire, but there was no escape from the chaos. That’s when you saw it—a glint of metal arcing through the smoke-filled room.

The grenade.

There was no time to think. Without a second thought, you moved, pushing Ghost and Gaz out of the way, shouting a warning. You remember the look of shock on their faces, their eyes wide as they realized what you’d done.

And then, the explosion.

Pain exploded in your body, a white-hot agony that tore through muscle and bone. Everything went dark.

A distant beeping sound pulls you from the darkness. You try to remember what happend, but there’s nothing but blank space where your memories should be.

Your eyes flutter open and you see them: four men standing around your bed, watching you with a mix of hope and tension. Their faces are worn, etched with exhaustion and worry, but there’s a glimmer of something else in their eyes—relief.

“There you are,” the one closest to you says, his voice gruff but warm, wearing a balaclava. You feel like you should recognize him, but you don’t. “Welcome back, mate. Thought we’d lost you there.”

A smaller man with a thick Scottish accent adds quickly, “You scared the shite out of us, y'know. Been touch and go for a few days.” His voice trembles slightly, but he’s smiling, trying to keep the mood light.

Their voices overlap as they speak, a mix of accents and tones all blurring together. They seem...happy? Relieved, at least. But you don’t understand why. You don’t understand any of this.

Who are they?