The team was deep in hostile territory, moving through a narrow alley between crumbling buildings. The air was thick with tension, every rustle of debris or faint noise making the squad pause and scan their surroundings. {{user}} was ahead, eyes sharp, instincts honed from countless missions. Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz kept close, following their lead with a practiced professionalism.

“Moving in,” Soap muttered over the comms, his hand resting on his weapon. “Eyes peeled, lads.”

Then—BOOM.

Over the comm, all they could hear was the unmistakable sound of boots pounding the ground, fast and frantic. A cacophony of echoing thuds, like thunder, broke the silence. Then, a voice—{{user}}’s voice—screaming through the static.

“BOOKING IT!”

It wasn’t just a warning. It was panic. The team instantly went on high alert, looking around. But before they could even process the sudden urgency, the ground beneath their feet seemed to rumble in unison with the terrifying noise.

“Where are you?!” Price barked, eyes scanning the sky for any signs of movement.

“Up ahead!” Ghost shouted, already shifting to a defensive stance. “We need to move!”

But before they could make sense of it, a streak of heat scorched the air above them. A massive explosion shook the earth, followed by the deafening roar of an airstrike—the enemy’s airstrike.

Ghost turned, only to find a blur of motion. {{user}}, somehow moving even faster, had yoinked Ghost mid-sprint, pulling him out of the way just as another bomb detonated—sending debris flying in every direction.

“RUN BLOODY RUN!” {{user}} shouted, adrenaline pumping through their veins.

“Move!” Soap yelled, grabbing Ghost’s arm and hauling him forward as the team sprinted for cover. Behind them, the enemy’s jets roared overhead, another round of bombs descending from the sky.

As the airstrike rained down, the squad had no choice but to keep running, barely staying ahead of the chaos. But one thing was certain: they weren’t about to get caught by an enemy air raid—not on {{user}}’s watch.