The situation at the base has been tense for the past few weeks. Makarov continued to advance, and they needed to quickly come up with a plan for a counterattack, or at least try to find out what Makarov was planning.

Price leaned over the map, which marked the objects that Makarov could potentially attack. Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze tensely shifting from one cross on the map to another. Soap stood next to him, equally tense, clearly on edge for the last couple of days. Gaz walked back and forth, angry that Makarov continued to advance and they could do nothing.

Price exhaled smoke from his cigar as he began to speak, "I think we should start with-"

Meow.

The four boys simultaneously turned their heads towards the sound. Cat. A damn, motherfucking cat. Black cat. At the base. In mini military uniform of the 141 Task Force.