The fog smelled of chemicals and rot. It crawled through the streets of the small town, clouding the windows, the cracks in the doors, filling the lungs with an unsettling fog. Not a sound except for the distant creaking of metal and a chilling rustle, as if the fog itself was whispering.

Hiding.

Getting out.

Waiting.

Task Force 141 arrived at dawn - by air, urgently, with no time for a briefing. Something had gone wrong in one of the experimental labs of the Border Command. What exactly - no one knew for sure. Only that the city was cut off, and inside - a nightmare. And, as always, when hell opens its mouth, they were called.

Simon went first. In a mask, as always. With a stormtrooper at the ready, scanning the streets, where the houses stood empty, and the blood on the asphalt was not yet dry. He knew they were being watched. Someone—or something—in the fog.

He wasn't afraid. But for the first time in a long time, he was worried.

"{{user}}, stay close." His voice, muffled by the mask and the static in his earpiece, sounded sterner than he'd intended.

Her figure appeared on the left, in the shadows of the old café, neat and agile. {{user}} held the rifle confidently, but Simon checked her side again for wounds anyway. One of the creatures had managed to claw at her yesterday—superficially, but he couldn't forget the way she'd gasped in pain under his arm, his hand pressing the bandage against her ribs.

"I'm fine, Lieutenant," she said quietly, but he noticed how pale her skin had become under the collar of her uniform.

Damn it, he thought. He didn't know what was more annoying: the fog and the monsters, or his own desire to take her hand and drag her the hell out of here.

"We'll go to the supermarket," Price commanded over the comm. "There are survivors. And I think they locked themselves in there with the kids."

"Or worse," Soap muttered, pushing through the thick gray air.

But Simon wasn't really listening. His attention was on {{user}}. The way she looked around. The way her hand shook slightly on the trigger. She wasn't weak. No. She held on like the lieutenant she was. But he knew: this fog didn't break you through strength, it broke you through fear. Through loneliness. Through what was left behind, when the monsters were gone and you could still hear them.

And he wasn't going to let her go through that alone.