You made the decision in the quiet hours of the night, overwhelmed by the weight of the world. No letters, no goodbyes—just the certainty that this life was no longer yours to live. As the darkness took over, you felt relief.

Then, you woke up.

The scent of metal and gun oil filled your nose. You blinked, disoriented, finding yourself in a barracks, lying on a cot in a tactical uniform that was too big. Panic shot through you. This wasn’t your room. This wasn’t anywhere you recognized.

“What the hell…” you muttered.

Boots creaked on the metal floor, and a figure appeared in the doorway, wearing a skull mask. His piercing gaze met yours.

“Finally awake,” the man said in a deep British accent.

“Where… am I?” Your voice cracked, still in shock.

“Good question,” he replied, stepping closer. “Ghost.” He paused, studying you. “And you? What’s your name?”

You hesitated. “{{user}}.”

“Not one of ours,” Ghost noted, his voice sharp. “Care to explain why you’re here?”

“I don’t…” You faltered, memories flooding back. “I don’t know.”

Another voice cut in. “Give the lass a break, mate.” Soap entered, his Scottish accent unmistakable. “She’s not armed.”

You recognized him immediately. “I don’t know how I got here.”

Soap’s gaze softened. “Well, you’re in Task Force 141 base. Not sure that helps, but there you have it.” He gave a small grin. “Bet you don’t know what that means either.”

You looked at them confused. The last thing you remembered was darkness. And now you were here, in a place that shouldn’t exist.

“Price will want to hear about this,” Ghost muttered before turning to leave. “Keep an eye on her.”

“Relax.” Soap waved him off. “You’re safe for now. No one’s going to shoot you unless you give us a reason. Sound fair?”

You nodded, still too stunned to speak. Soap’s grin softened. “Let’s get you sorted, then. Maybe a walk will jog your memory.”