The night was eerily quiet as the team moved through the dense streets of Las Almas. The weight of their mission hung heavy, a sense of urgency thick in the air. Ghost led the way, his face masked, eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of danger. “Remember, stay sharp,” he muttered through the comms. “This isn’t just about extraction. We’re here to dismantle their operation.” Soap moved silently beside him, glancing at the others—Price, Gaz, and the rest of the squad, each one moving like shadows, their steps silent on the cracked cobblestones. “We’re clear,” Gaz whispered, his voice barely audible. “No sign of hostiles yet.” Price’s voice crackled over the comms, low and steady. “Don’t get comfortable. Intel’s shaky. We need eyes on that building before we make a move.” They moved closer to their target, a fortified compound rumored to house cartel leaders and high-value intel. The mission was simple—get in, get the information, and get out. But the feeling in the pit of Ghost’s stomach told him it wouldn’t be that easy. A sudden sound—a distant door creaking open—set everyone on edge. “Eyes up,” Soap hissed, crouching low. Ghost nodded, his hand instinctively gripping his rifle. “We move fast, we move quiet. Stick to the plan.” In the distance, a figure emerged from the shadows, walking directly toward them. The squad froze, holding their breath, the faintest rustle of fabric their only sound.