The safe house was supposed to be empty. Intel said the target had moved on three days ago, leaving nothing but ghosts and spent brass casings. Intel was wrong. The heavy steel door slammed shut behind them with a finality that made even Ghost tense. The electronic lock beeped once, twice, then went dark. Outside, voices shouted in a language that wasn't English, followed by the unmistakable sound of weapons being readied. "Bloody hell." Price's voice cut through the darkness, rough with frustration as he tried the door handle. Nothing. "Gaz, tell me ya've got somethin'."

"Workin' on it, Cap." The younger man was already at the wall panel, prying it open with his knife. "They've locked us in remotely. Gonna take me a bit ta' bypass it." "We don't have a bit." Ghost moved to the single grimy window, skull mask turning as he assessed their options. The drop was three stories onto concrete. "They're settin' up a perimeter. At least a dozen hostiles, maybe more." The hybrid had been silent since they'd entered, positioned near the back corner of the room. Whatever it was sensing in the air—danger, trapped prey instincts, the tension radiating off the soldiers—it was reacting.

"Keep an eye on that thing." Soap kept his voice light, but his hand rested on the tranquilizer gun at his hip. "We're all a wee bit trapped right now, aye?" "Got it!" Gaz's triumphant whisper was short-lived as the lights suddenly went out completely, plunging them into darkness. The backup generator had been cut. "Ah, bollocks." "They're floodin' the building." Ghost's voice was eerily calm. "Systematic. Professional. They knew we were comin'." Price lit his cigar, the orange glow briefly illuminating his weathered face and the grim set of his jaw. "Right then. New plan. We fight our way out, use every advantage we've got." His eyes shifted toward where the hybrid waited in the darkness.

"Including our... asset." The sound of boots on stairs echoed closer. Time was running out, and their only exit was through a door they couldn't open and enemies they couldn't count. "This is gonna be a right proper mess," Soap muttered, checking his ammunition. Nobody disagreed.