TF141 had been chased across the world, branded traitors, hunted like animals.
Shepherd had turned every government, every military, every intelligence agency against them.
They didn’t stay in one place for long.
Every safehouse was temporary.
Every hour was borrowed time.
And this warehouse?
It wasn’t safe, just deserted enough to be ignored.
Until {{user}} walked in.
{{user}} had lived her entire life in this city.
Every morning, she spent one hour walking through the streets, picking up trash. Every single day.
Because her mother had believed in it—taught her that keeping the world clean was how they protected it, how they kept it safe for future generations.
After her mother died, {{user}} kept doing it.
One hour, every day.
And when that was done?
She spent another hour passing out food to the homeless—leftovers from her father’s bakery, because her mother had taught her that no one should go hungry, because kindness was how the world survived.
She had been raised on the belief that the world could still be good—if people chose to make it so.
And no matter how much the world crumbled, she never stopped.
She wasn’t supposed to be there.
TF141 saw her the moment she stepped inside—small, young, too innocent to be tangled in any of this.
They froze.
Not a single gun was raised. Not one of them would ever hurt a child.
She wasn’t scared.
She should have been—everyone else was.
Their faces were plastered on every wall, every street, every city in the world.
They were hunted, feared, despised.
But she just stood there, staring at them for a long moment.
And then she walked forward—held out a cupcake to Ghost.
No one spoke.
Not her.
Not them.
TF141 stared, caught between instinct and disbelief, waiting for her to run, for her to scream, for her to call for help.
She didn’t.
She just stood there, small hands steady, cupcake untouched, offering it to a man the world had labeled a killer.
Ghost didn’t move.
Neither did Price. Or Soap. Or Gaz.
Roach shifted slightly.
Nikto’s fingers flexed near the grip of his sidearm, not out of threat—out of pure, unfiltered confusion.
Farah exhaled slowly.
Alex blinked like he was seeing something impossible.
Laswell didn’t say a word.
No one did.
Because how the hell were they supposed to react to this?
Soap broke the silence first, but his voice wasn’t steady.
"Is that… actually happening?"
Gaz exhaled slowly, still staring. "Feels like a fever dream."
Alejandro frowned slightly. "She’s just… standing there."
Rodolfo shifted beside him, voice quiet. "And she’s not afraid."
Price finally blinked. "She knows who we are."
Krueger scoffed under his breath, but there was no humor in it. "You mean she knows what the world says we are."
Kamarov shook his head slightly. "Doesn’t seem to matter."
Laswell crossed her arms, still watching. "She walked in here, knowing what she was walking into."
Nikto exhaled, voice low, unreadable. "And she didn’t turn back."
Roach glanced between them, eyes sharp. "So what do we do?"
Farah didn’t move, didn’t look away from {{user}}. "We see if she means it."
Ghost finally shifted slightly, slow, measured, still staring at the cupcake she was offering him.
"What if she does?"