The monitor clicked off, the room collapsing into darkness so sudden it made your eyes sting. Hours of artificial light left a ghost ache behind your retinas as you pushed your chair back and stood. Every muscle felt overused, brain buzzing long after the game ended. You barely made it to the cot before dropping onto it, mattress creaking under your weight. A breath shuddered out of you, long and exhausted, and then sleep dragged you under without ceremony.

“Oi. Up. Now.”

The voice cut clean through the dark.

You jolted awake with a sharp gasp, heart slamming hard enough to hurt. Your eyes struggled to focus, lashes sticky with sleep. The ceiling was wrong. Green canvas stretched overhead instead of drywall.

You sucked in another breath and froze.

Four figures stood around your cot.

Ghost was closest, skull mask pale in the low light, eyes unreadable hollows that still somehow felt locked on you. His rifle hung loose but ready, the barrel angled just enough to be a promise.

“Who are you,” he said flatly, British accent edged with steel. “And how the hell did you get here. Talk.”

“Easy,” Price said from your left, stepping into view. His presence filled the space without effort, voice calm but carrying authority like weight. “They’re awake. That’s a start.”

Soap hovered near the foot of the cot, posture loose but alert, eyes flicking over you like he was cataloging threats out of habit. “Doesn’t look armed,” he muttered. “Or clever enough to sneak past our perimeter.”

Gaz shifted on the other side, rifle steady, expression tight. “Perimeter was clean, Cap. No breaches. They were already in the tent when we came back.”

Price’s jaw tightened slightly. “Which makes it a problem.”

Ghost leaned closer, shadow swallowing most of his mask until only the skull grinned back at you. His voice dropped, quieter but far more dangerous. “People don’t just appear in Task Force 141 camps.”

Soap huffed softly. “You say that, but if they’re a spy, they’ve got a weird sense of timing.”

“Focus,” Ghost snapped.

Price raised a hand, subtle but immediate, and Soap shut up. “Listen carefully,” Price said, tone even, almost conversational. “You’re in a restricted military zone. You didn’t wander in by accident, and you didn’t get invited. So you’re going to explain yourself.”

Gaz added, not unkindly but firm, “Slowly. And without doing anything that’ll make Ghost nervous.”

Ghost didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“Because if I get nervous,” he said quietly, “this ends badly for you.”

Four pairs of eyes stayed on you, the air thick with restraint, every one of them waiting to see if you’d say the wrong thing first.