It was an afternoon slipping quietly into night, the base bathed in the dim golden hue of a dying sun. You were one of Makarov’s embedded spies within Task Force 141, tasked with silently gathering Intel, eavesdropping on briefings, and slipping through shadows during missions.

Your boots tapped hurriedly against the hallway floor as your phone began to vibrate — the secure line from Makarov’s underground bunker. He never took chances, never called twice.

You scanned your surroundings, eyes sharp. Empty. Good. You ducked into your quarters, heart pacing faster than your footsteps. In your rush, you didn’t notice the door clicking back open just an inch.

Raising the phone to your ear, you were immediately greeted with Makarov’s clipped voice, laced with irritation. “You took your time.”

“Apologies,” you muttered quickly, tension tightening in your chest. Then you delivered the line he needed to hear. “I’ve gotten the Intel from Captain Price’s office. No one saw me coming in or out.”

A low chuckle rolled through the receiver. “Good. You’re useful, after all,” Makarov praised, his tone slick with satisfaction.

The call ended shortly after, your escape already set for tomorrow night — a silent return to Konni's ranks, to the real war behind the war.

But as you turned, spine already relaxing, you froze.

Leaning casually against the doorframe was Ghost, arms crossed, his expression unreadable beneath the skull-patterned mask.

He’d heard everything.

Oh no.