You’ve spent the last six months buried so deep undercover that you’d almost forgotten what sunlight looked like — or what it felt like to breathe without watching every word, every glance. But that ends today.

Laswell stands beside you in the briefing room, hands folded, voice calm and confident like always. “Everyone, this is {{user}},” she says, her tone holding that subtle edge of pride. “They’ve been reassigned to Task Force 141. You’ve probably heard the name before.”

A low whistle cuts through the room — Soap, you think. Of course it’s Soap. “Heard? Aye, we’ve all heard,” he grins, leaning back in his chair. “Best damn operative in the field. Didn’t think we’d ever get to steal ya.”

Gaz chuckles, offering an easy nod. “Glad to have you with us. Heard you’ve pulled off ops solo that’d make the rest of us look lazy.”

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Rumors travel fast.”

From the corner, Ghost doesn’t say anything. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, the skull of his mask angled toward you. You can’t see his expression, but you feel his gaze — steady, sharp, assessing. And something else.

Laswell continues, giving a quick rundown of your new role before dismissing the group to get acquainted. The team breaks into easy chatter — Soap starts in on a story about a botched extraction, Gaz offers you coffee, and the tension in the room fades into comfortable banter.

But Ghost doesn’t join the noise.

He moves toward you after a moment, his boots heavy on the floor. You turn as he stops a step too close, the air between you charged with quiet energy.

“Lieutenant Simon Riley,” he says, his voice low and smooth, filtered through that mask. “Ghost, if you prefer.”