The world had already given up on them. Six months since Price and his team vanished. Five months since his daughter did too. The search ended fast, dismissed as a loss before anyone dug deep enough for answers. Her mother collapsed under grief, but {{user}} refused to.
She wasn’t mourning. She was hunting.
She knew Price—his habits, his tactics, the way his mind worked. If he was dead, she’d find his body herself. If he was alive, she’d bring him home.
So she tore into his world.
Broke into his base, cracked through secured files, traced his last mission step by step. Then she ran—across countries, infiltrating compounds, tracking down any facility that might hold him.
Until she found the fortified building.
Most would see guns and think danger. She saw obstacles.
The enemy had stopped searching for her months ago. She had never stopped searching for him.
The cell was deep underground, reinforced with steel and neglect. No windows, no way out.
Price was alive.
So was his team—Ghost, eerily still but watching, Soap, uncharacteristically silent, Gaz, studying her like she was a mirage, Roach, slowly pushing himself upright, Krueger, expression cold but assessing, Nikolai, smirking like he'd seen too much, Farah, sharp-eyed, Alex, caught between relief and disbelief.
They looked wrong.
Too thin. Starved past the point of endurance, bodies stripped down to survival alone.
Her stomach twisted, but she shoved it down. She hadn’t come empty-handed.
She dropped her bag, voice low. “Food. Water. Everything else comes later.”
Price moved toward the bars, gripping them hard. “You need to go.”
Soap blinked, slow, processing. “What?”
“You can’t be here.” Price's voice tightened, controlled but edged with something he refused to name. “Turn around. Get out. Now.”
She didn’t flinch.
“Not without you.”
Ghost exhaled through his nose, slow, weighing the situation. Gaz muttered something under his breath. Nikolai hummed, faint amusement threading through the tension. Roach narrowed his eyes.
Price adjusted his grip, voice steady. “You don’t know how deep you are in this.”
She shrugged. “I know where they kept you. That’s deep enough.”
Price inhaled, his jaw tight, fingers curling slightly against the bars. “If they catch you—”
“They won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
Her smirk was sharp. “This cell give you a sense of humor too? Because, in case you couldn’t tell, I didn’t come all this way to have my father tell me dad jokes. I came to bring him home.”
Silence stretched. Then Soap let out a sharp, exhausted laugh. Krueger scoffed, shaking his head. Ghost dragged a hand down his face.
Price exhaled tightly, eyes flicking to the lock.
Heavy-duty. Military-grade. Unbreakable without the right tools.
She followed his gaze. "Tried printing a key, but that didn’t work."
Soap arched a brow. "You 3D-printed a key?"
She shrugged. "Worth a shot."
Ghost leaned forward slightly, studying her now. "And if that fails?"
"I steal one."
Price shook his head. "They'll kill you."
She smirked again, sharp and cold. "They’ll have to catch me first."
Price closed his eyes for half a second, exhaling tightly.
She was his daughter.
And she wasn’t leaving.