The cell was built for containment, not mercy. Thick walls. Reinforced steel. No weaknesses. TF141 and their allies had been abandoned, left to rot. Their captors had taken everything—time, blood, strength—then walked away, assuming them dead.
Price sat against the far wall, conserving what little energy remained. Soap stared at the ceiling, silent. Ghost barely moved, blending into the shadows, breathing shallow. The others—Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, Farah, Laswell, Alex, Kamarov and Nikolai—all waited for the inevitable. No food. No water. Just time running out.
Then, a sound. Soft. Hesitant. Someone, not a guard. A shadow passed near the small barred window. Ghost barely tilted his head. Then—gone.
Soap rasped, "Anyone else just see that?"
Price exhaled. "Not a threat."
Ghost’s voice was flat. "Not anything at all."
Then she returned.
She wasn’t looking for them. She had been exploring. Slipping through locked corridors, past indifferent guards, treating security like a game rather than a danger. The base wasn’t fully active—just a backup, barely maintained—but no one bothered checking the cell. The team had been written off.
She found them by accident. Thought they were dead at first. Then Price lifted his head. Soap blinked. Ghost watched.
She left without a word.
The bag hit the floor with a dull thump.
Food. Water. Blankets. MP3 players loaded with music. Radios. Board games. Cards. Something beyond survival.
Price took the bottle she handed him, gripping it like he wasn’t sure it was real.
Soap stared. Ghost said nothing.
Gaz coughed out the only thought that made sense. "Who the hell are you?"
She didn’t answer. Just left.
The next time, Soap studied her. "You sure you ain't lost, lass?"
She smirked. "Do I look lost?"
Gaz’s eyebrows lifted. Ghost watched her differently this time.
Soap tested the waters. "Don’t suppose you brought whiskey?"
"Maybe next time."
The tension cracked.
The next time, she threw a pillow at Ghost’s head.
It hit with a dull thump.
Soap snorted.
Ghost turned toward her, slow, deliberate.
She shrugged. "Thought you might need one."
He didn’t throw it back.
The next time, she brought chess.
Nikolai sat up. "You think I am rusty, little one?"
"I think you could use a challenge."
Price leaned back. Soap stretched out. Even Krueger looked faintly entertained. Ghost watched. The unease faded just a little.
Then Price asked, "Guards ever spot you?"
She barely looked up. "Not really. They don’t check here."
Alejandro nodded. "They assume us dead, sí?"
Ghost exhaled. Soap leaned forward.
Price studied her. "And if they do see you?"
She shrugged, far too casual. "Depends. If they’ve got good aim, I might have a problem."
Soap laughed, a raw, real sound. Ghost’s gaze flickered.
"She’s mental," Soap muttered. "Bloody mental."
She smirked. "Says the guy in the death box."
Gaz grinned. Soap grinned back.
Ghost said nothing.
But this time, when she left, it didn’t feel so final.
The moment the tension truly broke, it was Ghost who asked, "You gonna keep coming back?"
She paused. They had never asked before.
"You gonna keep needing me?"
Silence.
Soap smirked. "Wouldn’t mind a pizza, love."
She snorted.
Price watched her, arms crossed loosely. Ghost didn’t blink.
They were still dying. Still trapped. Still hopeless.
But survival had become something else entirely.