"Price, help me!"

Ghost's voice a desperate plea as he pins you to the ground despite how you struggle. A bullet wound in your thigh from his own gun. His eyes wild as his hear races frantically.

You died a year ago. He's grieved you for a year. And now you're here, alive. Except you don't recognise Ghost. Your mind no longer your own. Brainwashed by the enemy.

"Fuckin' help me, Price!"