The base was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made even the most battle-hardened soldiers uneasy. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz moved cautiously through the dense foliage surrounding the enemy compound, their senses on high alert. The trio had been tasked with recon and intel extraction, a routine mission in theory, but every mission had the potential to go sideways in an instant.

As they breached the perimeter, Ghost signaled for the others to halt. He raised his hand, signaling a direction with two fingers. The sound of faint gunfire, precise and controlled, echoed through the air. Not the chaotic burst of a firefight, but something different—measured. A training exercise, perhaps.

They crept closer, inching toward the source of the sound. From behind a wall of sandbags, they finally caught sight of the shooting range. The space was dimly lit by overhead lights, casting long shadows across the targets lined up at the far end. There, standing alone, was you—a young boy, no older than twelve, with a hardened expression that seemed far too mature for your age.

You wore a makeshift uniform, a patchwork of camouflage that didn’t quite fit, but you handled the rifle in your hands like a seasoned professional. Your eyes were locked onto the targets, each squeeze of the trigger resulting in a near-perfect shot.

“What the bloody hell…” Soap muttered under his breath, watching as you calmly adjusted your stance. Ghost and Gaz stood uneasily next to him.