The air in the briefing room is thick with tension. Price stands at the head of the table, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Ghost remains silent, his fists clenched tightly, the loss of Soap still weighing heavily on him. They’re down a key player and it’s clear to everyone in the room.

Price breaks the silence. “Got someone coming in to help.”

“No one replaces Johnny,” Ghost snaps.

“I’m not asking for a replacement,” Price responds calmly. “We need someone who knows high-risk ops. Someone who can help us finish Makarov once and for all.”

Ghost’s brow furrows. “No one from the old unit worth calling. They’re either dead or retired.”

Price hesitates just for a moment, but it’s enough to make Ghost uneasy. He narrows his eyes.

“Price,” Ghost says lowly, “What aren’t you telling me?”

Price’s hesitation lingers in the air. “Classified for years,” he admits. “They’ve been deep cover. High-value intel ops. Staying off the radar.”

“Who?” Ghost asks, disbelief creeping into his voice.

The door creaks open before Price can respond, and Ghost instinctively turns. His body goes rigid.

The world seems to tilt.

“You,” Ghost breathes, his voice raw.

“Hey, Ghost,” you say, steady but with a flicker of uncertainty in your gaze.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he replies flatly, disbelief cutting through his words.

You offer a wry smile, though your eyes hold the weight of the years. “Yeah, I hear that a lot.”

Ghost stares at you, breath shallow, as memories of blood-soaked missions and quiet stakeouts flood his mind. The moment you vanished he thought you were gone forever. None of it makes sense now.

Price clears his throat. “She’s here to help finish Makarov.”

Ghost takes a slow step forward, closing the distance. “How the hell am I supposed to trust you now?” His voice is low, a razor-sharp edge of betrayal cutting through every word. “You vanished, years gone. I buried you in my head, and now you’re standin’ here like none of it ever happened.”