It was right after the oil rig mission—right after Graves and Shadow Company turned on Task Force 141.

Soap, Ghost, and {{user}} had been split up, scattered across the chaos of Las Almas, hunted like animals through the alleyways and broken streets.

Graves wasn’t just sending his men—he was out there himself, boots on the ground, checking every building they could be hiding in.

One of those buildings was a dusty little store. Nothing special. A couple shelves, shattered glass, dust in the air.

He stepped inside, gun raised, expecting movement. Trouble. Maybe Ghost, maybe Soap.

What he didn’t expect was {{user}}, crouched in the corner, half-covered in dust, clutching a pack of peanut butter sandwich crackers and an open jar of honey.

Graves lowered his weapon slightly, staring.

“{{user}}…” he sighed.