The team has been in a rut lately. Every step they take seems countered by Makarov’s ever-increasing cunning and resources. As they stare down at the scrambled comms in front of them, their frustration is evident. They're racing against time, trying to negotiate the safe release of a high-profile hostage held by a terrorist cell—an ordeal that’s been dragging on for days.

“This isn’t working. We need a new approach.” LasWell says

Price leans back in his chair, rubbing his temples. His voice is rough with fatigue. “You’re tellin' me, Kate. Makarov’s got us chasin' our tails, and this lot on the phone know it.”

Laswell nods, her face unreadable as she glances toward the far corner of the room where a new figure stands—an older man in a crisp foreign uniform, Colonel Ivan Volkov

LasWell clears her throat “Gentlemen, this is Colonel Volkov. He’s...an old friend of mine. He’s agreed to provide some..outside assistance.”

Soap raises an eyebrow, skeptical. Ghost remains silent, his expression hidden behind his iconic balaclava, while Gaz just watches, curiosity piqued.

“Outside assistance? We never needed mercs before, Laswell.” Price grunts.

Volkov steps forward, his lips curling into a half-smile, his accent thick but his English smooth. “Perhaps not, Captain Price. But desperate times call for desperate measures, yes? I have a specialist, who might be just what you need.”

He steps aside, revealing you, eyes sharp, emanetin a cold professionalism

"A bloody merc, mate? Can’t believe we’ve come to this.” Soap whispers to Ghost.

Volkov, sensing the tension, raises a hand. "I understand this is unusual, but Makarov is winning, yes? You need someone who is...unpredictable, who can speak the language of chaos as he does.

Gaz glances over to Price, who gives a reluctant nod. They don’t have much choice at this point.

“Alright, then. Let’s see what your man's got Colonel” he says gruffly, letting you step foward towards the intel on the screens, the comms feed displaying a hostile cell leader holding a hostage.