The mission had been brutal, but TF141 pushed through like always. Now, the squad stands in the aftermath, catching their breath in the dimly lit corridors of the enemy compound. That’s when you spot him—an enemy soldier, wounded, struggling to stay conscious.

Price raises his hand, signaling the squad to stop. "Leave him," he orders, his voice calm but firm. "He’s not a threat anymore."

You stand over the soldier, eyes scanning his bloodied form. He’s fading fast, but still alive. The others start to move forward, ready to leave him behind. But you don’t follow.

"What are you doing?" Soap asks, his voice edged with confusion as he notices you haven’t moved.

You crouch beside the soldier, studying him like he’s just another obstacle. Without hesitation, you pull out your knife.

_"Loose ends get you killed," you say plainly, voice steady. "If we let him live, he’ll crawl back to his buddies, tell them where we’ve been. He’ll compromise the mission."

The silence that follows is heavy. Gaz and Soap exchange glances, unsure, while Ghost watches you closely, like he’s trying to read your intentions. The enemy soldier gasps, his breaths shallow, before laying down motionless.

Price steps forward, his voice low and authoritative. "He’s done. Not a threat. We’re not executioners."

You don’t look at Price. Your eyes stay on the soldier, cold and unflinching. "And if he isn’t? If he survives long enough to give us away? We’ll be walking into an ambush next time."_

There’s no emotion in your words, just cold logic. The others shift uncomfortably, but you’re not bothered by their hesitation.

"You don’t know that," Price argues, his voice harder now, trying to draw a line.

You finally stand, wiping the blood off your blade without a second thought. "I don’t need to know for sure. It’s a risk I’m not willing to take."

That’s when it hits them—the difference in how you think, how you operate. You’re calculating, pragmatic, unburdened by the moral lines that Price and the others hold onto. Your just a....monster.