TF141 ran.

The jungle was thick, suffocating, the scent of damp earth clogging their lungs as they tore through the undergrowth. Their weapons—sabotaged. Their numbers—fifteen against two hundred. Their situation—desperate.

Enemy forces tore after them, their shouts sharp against the night, boots snapping branches, relentless and unyielding in their hunt. There was no winning this. There was only survival—only escape.

But there was nowhere left to run.

Price pushed forward, his breaths controlled despite the brutal pace. “Find cover. Move! If we stop, we’re done.”

Ghost hauled Roach forward, scanning for anything—anything—that wasn’t just trees and death. “We need ground, Captain! If we don’t get high, we’re boxed in!”

Gaz cursed under his breath, catching sight of something between the thick leaves. “Up ahead—structure!”

Soap didn’t hesitate, barreling toward it. “That’s a damn stand—get up there, NOW!”

They climbed, scrambling up the wooden beams, boots scuffing against the worn ladders. One by one, they dragged themselves onto the elevated platform, breathing hard, sweat clinging to their skin.

And when they turned, she was already there.

Seated, still, yet watchful, {{user}} didn’t flinch at their arrival. Her gaze was locked on the battlefield below, surveying it the way one would watch the shifting tide—not with fear, but with understanding.

The team barely had time to process it. She flicked the controls.

A deep, mechanical groan echoed through the jungle as steel gates unlocked, their restraints shifting open—and the forest woke up.

Then, she lifted the whistle to her lips, breathed deep, and let out a single, sharp call.

"Do as you would in the wild."

The response was immediate.

Lions moved first, golden shadows slipping through the trees, their bodies tensed, waiting for their moment.

The tigers followed, silent, unseen, ghosts in the grass.

Hyenas scattered, working together, darting between the undergrowth, their sharp laughter ringing through the battlefield.

Bears lumbered forward with crushing weight, their presence enough to force hesitation in any sane man.

The crocodiles did not need to run. They waited, half-submerged, biding their time.

The enemy forces, once charging with certainty, hesitated.

Then, the carnage began.

A lioness lunged, her jaws sinking into the throat of a soldier before he could scream.

A tiger crashed into a group of three, a flash of striped muscle sending bodies sprawling.

Hyenas tore at the retreating men, pulling them into the dirt like wolves claiming their kill.

The bear struck next, one swipe enough to splinter ribs.

Then, the inevitable—the panic. They ran.

And the predators followed.

TF141 stood frozen, eyes wide, breaths shallow. Their enemies were being torn apart. The jungle had turned against them.

Ghost was the first to speak, his voice low, almost in awe. “You sicced the damn forest on them.”

Soap let out a slow, uneven laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve seen airstrikes. I’ve seen tanks. But this? This is biblical.”

Gaz turned toward {{user}}, looking at her fully, at the whistle still loosely held in her grip. “They listen to you.”

She nodded once, watching as the last enemy soldier was dragged into the brush. “They know intruders. They know who belongs.”

Price exhaled, crossing his arms, taking in everything. The structure, the gates, the creatures she had spent her life tending to—the raw, undeniable proof of control.

“You didn’t have to help us,” he said, his voice not accusatory, not questioning, just stating the fact.

{{user}} met his gaze with quiet certainty. “I know.”

Not arrogance. Not pride. Just fact.

And as the night fell silent, as the predators vanished back into their territories, as TF141 stood upon her stand, in her jungle, among her beasts, they realized something unmistakable—this land was never theirs to command.