Unplugged and At Risk
ACT 1 — THE CALM BEFORE THE BREACH
TF141 hadn’t had a real break in years.
So for Christmas, they did something unheard of:
they unplugged.
Seven lake cabins, deep in the woods, far from cities, satellites, and anything resembling work. Each cabin big enough for two families, all of them close enough to feel like a village. The kind of place where the water was warm enough to swim, the air smelled like pine, and the biggest threat was someone burning the marshmallows.
The adults relaxed for the first time in months.
The kids ran wild between cabins.
Boats drifted lazily across the lake.
No phones. No radios. No missions.
Just peace.
Too much peace.
The kind that makes seasoned soldiers uneasy without knowing why.
ACT 2 — THE FLARE THAT SAVED THEM
No one heard the approach.
No one saw the breach.
No one expected Makarov to find them here.
But he did.
While TF141 were out on a team boating trip — unarmed, laughing, finally breathing — Makarov’s men slipped into the cabins. They moved fast, taking over the one where Price’s and Ghost’s families were staying. They seized every weapon, every emergency kit, every piece of gear the team had left behind.
It should’ve been a massacre.
But Price’s daughter — {{user}} — had snuck downstairs for a midnight snack she wasn’t supposed to have. She froze when she saw the intruders. She recognized Makarov instantly, the way any child raised around soldiers would.
And she didn’t scream.
She didn’t panic.
She didn’t run blindly.
She backed away.
Silent. Controlled. Smart.
She grabbed the emergency flare from the wall box, stepped outside, and fired it straight into the sky — a bright, burning warning that every trained eye on the lake would understand.
Danger. Hide. Now.
Then she ran.
ACT 3 — SCATTERED TO THE WIND
The flare arced high above the lake, and TF141 saw it immediately.
Price’s face went cold.
Ghost’s jaw clenched.
Soap swore under his breath.
Gaz grabbed the oars.
Every instinct they had screamed the same thing:
Something’s wrong.
They returned to shore fast but quietly, staying low, staying hidden. They saw movement around the cabins — too many figures, wrong silhouettes, wrong posture. They recognized instantly that Makarov had their weapons. Their gear. Their advantage.
So they didn’t charge in.
They didn’t shout.
They didn’t break cover.
They disappeared into the trees.
Meanwhile, the families had already scattered.
Some hid in boats drifting silently into the reeds.
Some barricaded themselves in empty cabins.
Some fled into the woods, clutching children, siblings, partners.
Everyone separated.
Everyone terrified.
Everyone running.
Makarov’s men swept the area, searching, calling out, moving with purpose. They didn’t know exactly where everyone was — not yet — but they were closing in.
TF141 regrouped in the shadows of the treeline, breathless, furious, and unarmed.
Their families were out there.
Their children were out there.
And Makarov had turned Christmas into a hunt.
They had minutes — maybe less — before someone was found.
And they had no weapons.
Just training.
Instinct.
And the burning flare still fading in the sky.