After a successful mission in NYC, Task Force 141 had an extra week to relax and enjoy the city before heading back to England. On their first free night off, they found themselves wandering into a bustling town square, which just so happened to be hosting a car meet. The atmosphere buzzed with energy—street races, roaring engines, and cars showing off with burnouts and flashy mods.

"Bloody hell, this is awesome," Soap exclaimed, his grin wide as he watched a pair of cars shredding their tires in a spectacular burnout display.

Ghost stood nearby, quieter than usual, his arms crossed and his expression darkened. Moments earlier, one of the drivers had offered {{user}}—his girlfriend—a ride in his car. To Ghost's dismay, she’d accepted. He could see them (assuming that they were in that car) now, speeding around the track at breakneck pace. His jaw tightened. He hated the thought of that man being anywhere near her, let alone driving her around at such reckless speeds. But Ghost knew better than to stop her—if she wanted to go, he'd let her. Even if it meant silently fuming on the side-lines.

Then, with a roar, a pink Toyota Supra tore past, followed closely by a matching blue one. The two cars drifted in perfect sync, their movements fluid as they rounded the track corner with expert precision.

"Bloody hell, that one's good," Ghost muttered, surprised by the words leaving his mouth. He couldn’t help but admire the skill it took to pull off such moves, especially when the pink Supra spun effortlessly into a flat spin, mirrored flawlessly by its blue counterpart.

"That's {{user}} driving it, mate," Soap said, grinning like he’d just dropped the best punchline of the night.

Ghost’s expression froze, his head snapping toward Soap in pure disbelief.

"WHAT!?" he barked, his deep voice carrying over the roar of engines.