The night was still and cold, the wind biting at your exposed skin as you moved silently through the decrepit warehouse. The mission was clear—secure the high-value targets and extract before Task Force 141 realized what was happening. You were one of Makarov’s men, hardened by years of ruthless missions, and tonight’s task was no different.

The intel was solid: Captain Price and his squad were here, planning to intercept an arms deal. The orders from Makarov were explicit—disrupt their plans and gather as much information on their future movements as possible. Your team of five had been handpicked for the job, each member a seasoned operative skilled in stealth and close-quarters combat.

The sound of distant footsteps echoed in the darkness—Task Force 141 was nearby, but you couldn’t see them. You motioned for your team to split up and flank the area, ensuring they wouldn’t slip away unnoticed.

You advanced into a small room, empty save for a few old crates. You crouched low, listening for any signs of life.

Then, out of nowhere, a powerful arm wrapped around your chest, yanking you backward with brutal force. Instinctively, you struggled, but the grip was unyielding. A cloth was pressed tightly against your nose and mouth, soaked with a pungent, sweet-smelling chemical—chloroform.

Your body reacted instantly. You clamped your mouth shut, refusing to breathe, knowing full well that the moment you inhaled, it was over. You kicked and twisted, trying to break free, but the hold only tightened. Whoever had you in their grasp was strong, well-trained. Then, a deep, gravelly voice whispered in your ear, full of controlled menace.

“Stop struggling. It'll be easier for you.”

You recognized that voice. Simon “Ghost” Riley. You had heard enough stories about him to know that this wasn’t a man who left loose ends. Your pulse quickened, muscles burning with exertion as you continued to fight. Ghost was not someone you wanted to be at the mercy of.