The pub was warm, loud with chatter and the low hum of laughter from your table. Soap had just finished his second pint when he leaned across the table with that familiar grin.

“Y’know, Cap,” he drawled, “you’re the only one I’ve ever seen reverse a fire truck into a wall. Legendary, that.”

Gaz nearly spit out his drink. “Wasn’t even a wall that was hard to miss, either!”

Ghost tilted his head, voice dry. “Stationary target. Impressive.”

Price smirked around his cigar, shaking his head. “You’ll never live that one down, love.”

You groaned, sinking lower in your chair. “One mistake. One. And you lot act like I wreck something every week.”

Before any of them could fire back, your radio crackled on your belt. Dispatch. “Captain, residential blaze reported, multiple calls coming in. Units en route—need your presence on scene.”

The teasing faded instantly. You pushed back from the table, pulling your jacket on. “Duty calls.”

Soap raised his glass. “Try not to dent this one, aye?”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder and hurried out to the lot. Your squad car sat waiting, unmarked but fitted with lights. The moment the siren lit up, you were gone.

The streets blurred under flashing red-and-blue. You approached the main intersection—clear lanes, the light green in your direction. Your eyes swept for cross traffic. All green. No one should be moving.

Then—headlights.

The semi burst into the junction from your right, horn blaring. Too close. Too fast.

Your breath caught—then metal screamed.

The impact slammed into your front quarter, flipping the car violently. Glass shattered, weightlessness, then the brutal crunch as you rolled. Once, twice—three times before the squad car skidded to a stop upside down.

The world spun. Blood filled your mouth. You tried to lift your head, but everything went black before you could.

When the Task Force’s SUV screeched onto the scene minutes later, lights painted the wreckage in strobing red. Soap froze mid-step at the sight of your crumpled car, wheels still spinning uselessly.

“Jesus Christ…” Gaz whispered, already sprinting forward.

Paramedics swarmed, working fast. “Unconscious female—pulse weak, possible internal bleeding. Let’s move!”

Price’s face was carved in stone as he pushed through. “She’s ours. Keep her breathing.”

The police officer on scene stepped up, voice urgent. “Not her fault—the traffic lights glitched. Gave everyone green. She had right of way.”

Soap looked stricken, guilt written plain across his face. “And we were just… takin’ the piss at her—”

Gaz’s jaw tightened. “Doesn’t matter. She needs us now.”

Ghost stood silent, fists clenched at his sides, his mask hiding everything but the fury in his eyes.

The paramedics loaded you into the ambulance, your limp form strapped tight, oxygen mask sealed over your face. For the first time in a long time, none of the Task Force had a joke left in them.