It was a complete disaster. The mission had unravelled at the seams—nothing was going according to Task Force 141's plan. The target was slipping away, each second putting more distance between him and any hope of capture. Price watched the chaos unfold with a sharp, calculating eye, then made a call no one expected.

“The only way we end this,” he said grimly, “is with a sniper.”

But {{user}} was over two and a half miles away—positioned on a jagged ridge blanketed in dust and wind, barely visible through the haze of the battlefield. She was far—too far. Even Ghost stared at Price like he’d grown a second head. He knew his girlfriend was good but this was damn near impossible.

Everyone knew {{user}} was a damn legend with a rifle. Her name was whispered in awe across bases, her accuracy unmatched. But this? This was madness. The longest confirmed sniper kill in history capped at just over two miles—and that was under near-perfect conditions.

"{{user}}," Price's voice crackled in her earpiece. "We need you to take the shot. He's at your eleven o’clock, but he's beyond visible range. Trust your instinct."

A pause.

Then her calm voice cut through the comms:
"Copy that."

A breath.
A whisper of movement.
Then—crack.

A single, clean shot echoed through the valley.

Silence.

Seconds later, the enemy forces panicked. Like ants scattering from a fire, they fled in every direction. Their commander—dead. Dropped clean through the skull from an impossible distance.

Ghost exhaled, shaking his head in disbelief, awe flashing in his eyes.
“Bloody hell… she actually did it.”