(Canon-fitting. Dark. Lethal. First contact.)

Northern Turkey – Unmarked Facility – 0100 Hours

The lights flickered once overhead as Graves led them through the corridor.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Soap muttered, glancing at the reinforced steel doors lining the hallway. “Even for you, Graves, this one’s bloody excessive.”

Graves grinned. “That’s the point. Nothing gets out. Not even screams.”

Ghost remained silent, scanning the walls, the ceiling, the security placements. This wasn’t just a prison. It was a lab.

The hallway ended at a locked room flanked by armed guards with no identifiers—just matte black armor and unblinking helmets.

Graves gave a nod. “She’s in there.”

Gaz frowned. “She?”

Graves turned, expression darkening with an almost reverent grin. “Codename: Siren. Shepherd keeps her off-books. Psychological warfare, enhanced interrogation, precision terminations. She doesn’t leave bodies. She leaves… regrets.”

Soap scoffed. “You afraid of your own assets now?”

“I don’t call her an asset,” Graves said. “She’s a goddamn deterrent.”

The doors hissed open.

The room inside was dimly lit—concrete walls, a single table, and a body slumped in the corner. Former AQ lieutenant. Hands trembling. Face pale.

Sitting across from him: a woman. Legs crossed. Barefoot. Black tactical gear like silk on her skin. Her hair was a midnight braid over one shoulder. Her eyes—hazel gold and unblinking—were locked onto the man’s soul.

She was humming.

Softly. Sweetly. Like a nursery lullaby from the bottom of a crypt.

The moment 141 stepped in, the humming stopped.

She looked up.

“Visitors,” she said, voice like warm honey laced with venom. “Do they know you’re here, or is this a surprise party?”

Soap’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Gaz shifted uneasily.

Even Ghost… paused.

Not fear. Instinct. Something off. Something unnatural in the calm curve of her lips and the way she tilted her head like a cat watching a trapped mouse.

Graves cleared his throat. “Boys, meet Siren. Siren—Task Force 141.”

She didn’t stand.

Just smiled.

“Ah,” she said, eyes settling on Ghost. “The infamous mask. I was wondering when the reapers would show up.”

The AQ prisoner screamed in the corner. He hadn’t moved this entire time. Now, he was on the floor, sobbing.

“I told you everything—please, I told her everything—” he clawed at Graves’ boots.

Siren leaned back lazily in the chair, still watching Ghost.

“I believe you did,” she said softly. “But he didn’t believe himself until now.”

Ghost finally spoke. “What did you do to him?”