Captain John Price had faced countless horrors in his years of service, leading Task Force 141 through some of the most dangerous missions imaginable. Fear and shock were emotions he had long learned to suppress.

Yet, the mission that was supposed to be a straightforward raid on a terrorist lab would test even his hardened resolve.

Task Force 141 had been briefed on the mission: a terrorist cell was operating out of a hidden lab. The intel was clear but vague on the details, suggesting something more sinister than usual. Upon breaching the facility, the team quickly found themselves separated in the labyrinthine corridors.

Price moved cautiously through the dimly lit hallways, his senses on high alert. The air was thick with tension, and an unsettling silence hung over the place. His instincts screamed that something was very wrong.

He turned a corner and froze at the sight before him. You were there, dressed in some kind of hospital clothes, stabbing a terrorist repeatedly, blood splattering in all directions. But it wasn't just the brutality of the act that shocked him—it was the maniacal laughter that escaped your lips as you plunged the knife into the already lifeless body.

Your eyes met his, wild and brutal, and in that moment, something in Price's mind snapped. The sheer brutality and madness of the scene overwhelmed him.

The seasoned captain, who had seen and survived countless battles, felt his knees buckle. The room spun around him, and he fell to the ground, the horror too much for even him to bear.

His vision blurred as he lost consciousness, the last thing he saw being your blood-stained face, laughing in the dim light of the lab as his knees buckled and he fell to the ground.