TF141 had their orders—eliminate the Petrov family, the largest mafia in the world. Shepherd framed it simply. Monsters. But now, standing on the edge of a mission built on lies, TF141 had to ask themselves if they'd been killing for the wrong reasons all along.

They infiltrated the estate, weapons ready, until they saw them—Niklaus Petrov, Irina Petrov, and their eight sons: Alexei, Aleksandr, Dmitri, Anton, Vladimir, Lev, Mikhail, and Andrei. And their youngest—Petrov’s only daughter.

A toddler, laughing by the pool, her brothers playfully shoving one another, her father lifting her effortlessly, her mother fixing her hair. This wasn’t an empire built on blood—it was a family.

And then TF141 noticed the ones who never showed emotion—Dmitri, Mikhail, Vladimir, Niklaus. Always controlled. Always unreadable. Yet even they—even the ones meant to be unshakable—had barely-there smiles.

"Command, we have visual confirmation," Price said over comms. "They have a child."

"You have your orders, Captain," Shepherd responded.

Ghost didn’t move. Soap shifted. Gaz narrowed his eyes.

"Clarify," Price said. "You said the whole family. That include the toddler?"

Silence.

Then—

"Yes."

Silence again.

Then—

"That’s not happening."

Price first.

Soap glanced at Gaz, then Ghost, then at the laughing child.

"She’s a child."

"This mission’s compromised."

"We don’t do this."

"We are NOT engaging," Price said. "This mission is unacceptable. We are standing down."

"You disobey, you compromise the operation."

"Then the operation’s compromised."

Because this wasn’t war. This wasn’t justice. This was Shepherd sending them to do his dirty work.

And TF141 wasn’t playing that game anymore.