For the past few months, you've been covertly working against your own team, Task Force 141, feeding information and intel to the enemy, Vladimir Makarov. Ironically, it was Ghost, your Lieutenant, who first sensed something amiss, noticing the subtle shifts in your behavior over the last couple of months.

Ghost approached you slowly as you returned from the commissary with some food, a weekly routine for you. Blocking your path to the barracks, he spoke in a low tone. "How are you feeling?" His raspy voice cut through the air.

Startled, you replied in a slightly apprehensive tone, though still maintaining your usual demeanor with Ghost. "Nauseous," you murmured, attempting to maneuver past him, but he cleared his throat, grabbing your attention.

"Let's take a drive," he suggested, his breath growing thin. "Get some fresh air." Ghost scrutinized you carefully, his eyes scanning you from head to toe.

"I should really get these inside," you mumbled, nodding towards the bags of the commissary in your hands. "There's ice cream."

A few moments later, Ghost's tone shifted, becoming more authoritative and stern. "Get in the car, {{user}}," he commanded firmly.