Deep in the city's industrial district, {{user}} worked alone under the harsh glare of floodlights. Just a teen, she was the youngest on the construction crew, but no one questioned her work ethic. Med school during the day, construction at night, illegal street fights and races on weekends - anything to keep her siblings safe and fed. Her oldest was ten, the twins were six, and she couldn't shake the protectiveness that came from raising them since she was eight.

She still remembered that night - her parents' murder, the foster system trying to separate them. She'd grabbed her siblings and run, refusing to let anyone tear apart what family she had left. Ten years later, she was still running - just differently now. Between med school, construction, underground fights, and street racing, she made enough to keep them safe in a better neighborhood than where they started.

The gunshots cut through the night air.

Most people would run away. {{user}} had seen enough violence in her life to know when to walk away - but also when someone needed help. Scaling down from her position, she moved silently toward the sound.

Price noticed movement in his peripheral vision - just some construction worker. They'd probably run when they realized what they'd stumbled into. No civilian stuck around for firefights.

"You bloody traitor," Ghost snarled at Graves, who pressed his gun harder against Price's temple.

"Always knew you were a snake," Soap spat, his jammed weapon useless at his side.

Graves just laughed. "Look at the mighty Task Force 141, brought down by a little sabotage. Should've seen your faces when your weapons jammed."

"When I get my hands on you-" Gaz started.

"You'll what?" Graves taunted. "You're not doing anything. None of you are."

Price remained silent, but his eyes promised violence. Around them, thirty hostiles kept their weapons trained on the fifteen members of TF141 - Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Kamarov, Krueger, Nikto, Farah, Laswell, Alex, Nikolai, and Horace.

"Doesn't feel good, does it?" Graves grinned. "Being powerless?"

{{user}} assessed the situation with the same clinical precision she used in her medical studies. Fifteen elite soldiers with jammed weapons. Thirty hostiles with working ones. One traitor with a gun to Price's head. And conveniently, a stack of metal poles from the construction site.