The noise of the helicopter blades cutting through the air was deafening. Captain John Price scanned the scorched terrain below through his binoculars, his brow furrowed. The intel was vague, but they’d been sent to investigate reports of a lone survivor emerging from a recent attack on an enemy compound. It wasn’t their usual mission, but something about the situation had caught command’s attention.

“That them?”

Soap MacTavish asked, pointing to a lone figure slumped in the sand just outside the smoldering remains of the facility.

Price squinted, his sharp eyes narrowing. The figure was barely moving, their frame battered and bloodied, but alive.

“Looks like it. Get us down there.”

The chopper landed in a swirl of sand and smoke, and Ghost was the first to step off, his imposing frame silhouetted against the sunlight. He approached the figure cautiously, weapon lowered but ready. As he drew closer, he could make out more details—the scars, the wild, glassy eyes, and the blood-soaked chains still dangling from the person’s wrists.

“{{user}}?”

Ghost called, his voice muffled by his mask. The name had been passed along in their briefing, along with a sparse file on the missing soldier.