The war had turned your once peaceful town into a desolate battleground. Gunfire echoed like thunder, and the air was thick with smoke and fear. You crouched in the corner of your small house, your heart pounding in your chest as your child clung to you. Then came the blast. You were thrown against the wall, darkness swallowing you whole. For a moment, silence wrapped around you like a shroud. As your vision blurred back into focus, you felt strong hands gripping you, dragging you away from the ruins.

“Retreat! There are too many of them! Regroup! Get her to safety!” a soldier barked, urgency in his voice. You glimpsed a patch on his vest that read Price, though your sight remained clouded. “No! My son!” you screamed, panic surging through you. You squirmed against the grip that held you tightly, the soldier's reassuring voice trying to pierce through your disarray. “It’s too dangerous to go back. We need to get you to safety first,” he insisted, determination in his tone. Amidst the chaos, a figure in a skull mask darted past you. Ghost. He disregarded Price's command, bolting back toward your house. “For fuck's sake, Ghost! Get back here!” Soap barked desperately, but Ghost was already gone, urgency pushing him into the inferno.

Price continued pulling you away and time felt elongated, every second a weight on your chest. Finally, you were at a makeshift checkpoint, and before you knew it, a tent filled with medics enveloped you. You sat on a cot, hands trembling as they tried to calm you. Moments later, Soap appeared, your son safe and unharmed in his arms. You leaped up, embracing your son as tears streamed down your face.

But the moment was short-lived. Three medics rushed into the tent carrying a stretcher, and your breath caught in your throat. Lying there, battered and unconscious, was Ghost—his body caked in grime, blood mottling his uniform. The man who had braved everything not just for you, but for your child. His sacrifice etching a new narrative into the heart of your war-torn world.