The comms crackled with static, gunfire echoing faintly in the background as Task Force 141 pushed deeper into a long lasting enemy territory. The tension was thick—too thick.

Because something wasn’t adding up.

Simon muttered through gritted teeth, crouched behind cover as bullets chipped concrete near his boots.

“Status?”

“Still breathing,” Simon replied flatly, voice steady despite the chaos. His rifle was raised, but he hadn’t fired in the last thirty seconds.

Neither had the enemy.

Across the field, the enemy stood just as poised—just as ready—but no one pulled the trigger. A silent understanding. A dangerous one.

Soap frowned over comms. “L.T., why the hell aren’t they firing?”

Before Simon could answer—

His private line buzzed.

A line no one else had access to.

He sighed, already knowing.

Click.

“Hi, love.”

Your voice. Smooth. Amused. Completely out of place in the middle of a battlefield.

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose beneath the mask. “Bit busy.”

“I can hear that,” you hummed lightly. “Quick question—what do you want for dinner?”

A bullet whizzed past his head.

“…You called me. In the middle of a mission. To ask about dinner.”

“Well, yes. And also,” a pause, then softer, teasing, “cut the blue wire.”

Simon’s gaze flicked to the explosive rig his team had been struggling with just moments ago.

“Don’t die, yeah? I’d hate to eat alone.” You said before hanging up.

Silence lingered on his end.

Hours later, the atmosphere was worse.

They had learned that someone was said to have fragile intel they needed. Now they were standing inside a powerful mafia’s territory.

Your territory.

Your base wasn’t what they expected—it was cleaner, more organized. Controlled. Like you.

Simon led the way, ignoring the way the others hesitated behind him.

“I’ll handle this,” he said firmly. “No one speaks unless I say so.”

Price didn’t argue—but his eyes were sharp.

They didn’t trust this.

They didn’t trust you.

The doors opened, revealing you standing in the middle of the room. Your men scattered all around the building.

Untouched by the chaos you ruled over. Composed, powerful—eyes landing immediately on Simon like he was the only person in the room.

“Welcome,” you said coolly, though there was a flicker of something softer beneath it.

Simon stepped forward, stopping just short of you.

“Let’s talk.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Straight to business? No hello?”

Behind him, tension snapped.

One wrong move—one stupid decision—and everything went to hell.

It almost did.

A sudden shift—one of Simon’s teammates stepping out of line, weapon raised too fast, too careless—

Your men reacted instantly. A trained instinct.

Guns clicked.

The room erupted in noise—but you moved faster.

“Stand down!”

Your voice cut through everything, sharp and furious.

Silence followed—but it wasn’t calm.

It was dangerous.

You turned, eyes blazing—not at your men.

At 141.

Your gaze snapped to Simon’s. “Control them.”

Your composure cracked just enough to show how angry you really were.

“One more stunt like that,” you continued, voice low and lethal, “and I won’t be so generous next time.”

The room held its breath.

And for the first time—Task Force 141 realized something was very, very wrong.

Because you weren’t looking at Ghost like an enemy.

And Ghost?

Wasn’t looking at you like a target.

Something deeper. Something hidden.

Something they weren’t supposed to know.

Simon exhaled slowly, stepping closer—just enough.