The safehouse was quiet — mission done, bodies counted, and gear cleaned. The team had gathered, lounging across the room like wolves between hunts.

“Clean op,” Price said, pulling off his gloves and lighting a cigar. “Clean enough, anyway.”

“Could’ve been cleaner if someone hadn’t blown the wrong door,” Gaz muttered, nudging Roach with his boot.

Roach raised both hands. “I was following her call.”

“Oi,” Soap leaned against the table, smiling wide. “Can you blame him? I’d jump through any wall if {{user}} told me to. Her voice alone could lead me into hell.”

Price chuckled. “You say that every time we hear her voice.”

“It’s because it’s true every time,” Soap grinned, tipping his head toward the open comms unit. “You hear that tone over comms, all calm and commanding… just does something to a man.”

Ghost sat on a crate nearby, arms folded, silent. Watching. Always watching.

Kruger said nothing, as usual, but glanced toward the comms with a smirk that said he agreed.

Then the room shifted — quieted — as boots clicked softly on concrete. You had arrived in person.

The door opened.

You stepped in — tactical gear, sleek, hair pulled back just enough to show sharp eyes and that dangerously beautiful face they all heard but rarely saw.

The chatter stopped.

Soap straightened up like he’d been caught talking in class. “Well… speak of the angel.”

“Was wondering if you were real,” Gaz said under his breath.

You crossed the room, tossing a small tablet onto the table. “Tomorrow’s op. Objectives uploaded. Expect heavy resistance on approach.”

Your voice was just the same in person — calm, sharp, in control. But now paired with your presence, it hit differently. You were gorgeous. Untouchably so. Like someone sculpted out of every soldier’s half-forgotten dream between wars.

Soap leaned against the table, giving his most charming grin. “You know, I follow your voice through fire. Imagine what I’d do if you asked nicely in person.”

You didn’t blink. “Imagine it silently.”

The room erupted. Roach wheezed. Gaz practically fell off the chair. Price looked away, smirking, like he’d expected nothing less.

Soap held up his hands, laughing. “Brutal. I like it.”

“I’m not here to be liked,” you replied smoothly, turning to leave. “Just obeyed.”

Ghost watched you go. Silent. No expression. But his eyes followed you out like a shadow.

When the door shut behind you, the silence held for a moment.

Then Soap exhaled. “She’s gonna kill me one day.”

Price puffed his cigar. “You’ll die happy.”