The air inside The Crooked Bough Pub was heavy with the scent of stale beer and salt from the battered chips sizzling in the kitchen. Shadows danced across the walls as flickering overhead lights struggled against the persistent gloom. It was one of those places meant for forgetting, a perfect retreat for four weary soldiers emerging from the crucible of a gruelling mission.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley sat in a secluded booth with his comrades—John 'Soap' MacTavish, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, and Captain John Price. The room hummed with the low buzz of conversation, laughter unexpectedly arising from time to time. Steam wafted from half-empty pints, as the weariness began to lift, if only slightly. Ghost leaned back, the cold metal of his mask pressing against his skin, a constant reminder of his duty and the identity he had constructed out of shadows.

But then, the bell above the door chimed.

It was a subtle sound, nearly lost amongst the cacophony, yet it tugged at something deep within Simon. He turned his gaze to the entrance, observing a young girl stumble inside, her limbs trembling as she hugged herself for warmth. She hunched over, gasping for air, her ragged breaths barely breaking through the din of the pub. Without thinking, Ghost’s instincts kicked in. He stood abruptly, his imposing figure drawing attention from the others, and made his way across the floor. “Get out,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, cutting through the noise like the blade of a knife. “You’re too young to be in here.”