“We need to find a rival cartel. That’s the only way we’ll have a shot at taking down Shadow Company.”

Price’s voice carried across the room—measured, firm, and cold as steel. The kind of tone that didn’t ask for opinions. It laid out facts.

The team stood clustered around the circular table in the heart of the briefing room. Harsh overhead lighting left stark shadows across the black walls, throwing their faces into sharp relief. The table glowed softly beneath a projected map, the pulsing red markers painting a warpath through cartel territory.

Ghost remained silent, arms folded across his chest, shoulder brushing lightly against {{user}}’s. His mask covered everything but his eyes—sharp, flicking between the others as they digested what Price had said.

Soap exhaled through his nose, frowning, eyes locked on the map. Gaz rubbed a hand across his jaw, brows knit in thought. No one spoke yet—but the weight of what Price was suggesting hung thick in the air. Aligning with a cartel wasn’t just dangerous. It was unpredictable. But that was the point.

Price’s gaze swept the room. Briefly over Soap. Then Gaz. Then to Ghost—and finally, it landed on {{user}}.

Ghost felt it before the captain even said her name.

“{{user}},” Price said, pausing just long enough to draw attention. “Back in your teen years, you were involved with a cartel, weren’t you? Before you enlisted.”

The words dropped like a stone in still water.

Ghost shifted subtly. His eyes flicked to {{user}}, watching her reaction.

Price leaned back slightly, the brim of his boonie hat casting a shadow across his eyes. “That kind of history might be useful. You’ve got insight the rest of us don’t.”