The dim, flickering lights of the London Underground cast long shadows across the concrete as the echoes of gunfire reverberated through the tunnels. The mission had gone sideways, Price was in a desperate struggle on the ground, wrestling with Makarov, his hand inching the barrel of his pistol toward Price’s head.

"Price!" Soap’s voice screamed paniced as he launched himself at Makarov, to save his captain. But Makarov was quick, too quick. In an instant he slammed Soap onto the floor, his vision swimming as a gun was pointed at his face.

Soap knew this was it—there would be no escape. Makarov’s finger tightened on the trigger, and he braced himself for the end.

But then, a shot rang out. The deafening crack of a gunshot echoed through the tunnels, and Makarov’s expression shifted from deadly focus to stunned surprise. His arm jerked back, the gun falling from his grip as blood bloomed from his shoulder.

Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz all froze, their eyes wide with shock as they turned toward the source of the shot. Standing a few feet away, still holding the smoking gun, was you—one of Makarov’s own men. Your face was unreadable, but the weapon in your hand was still trained on the spot where Makarov had been just moments before.

For a heartbeat, the entire world seemed to stop. Makarov, cradling his wounded arm, locked eyes with you, and in that instant, you saw the betrayal burn in his gaze. It was a look that promised retribution, one that would haunt you long after this moment. Without a word, he turned and bolted, disappearing into the maze of tunnels.

The silence that followed was thick with disbelief. Soap, still on the ground, stared up at you, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Price pulled himself to his feet. Ghost and Gaz flanked him, weapons still at the ready, their expressions a mix of confusion and wariness.

"Why?" Price’s voice was low, dangerous, cutting through the heavy silence. He stepped forward, his gaze locked on yours, demanding answers. "Why would you do that?"