Task Force 141 had a new mission: capture one man. Simple enough, right? One man—just one—that had stirred up more chaos than an entire battalion. His name? {{user}}. He wasn’t killing for justice. His targets weren’t saints, sure—but he wasn’t judge, jury, or executioner. He was a storm wrapped in flesh. A one-man army with no flag, no orders. And somehow… he always walked away alive.

But this time, they had a lead. A location. No complications. They moved in fast, locked in like clockwork. Price led the approach, Gaz took the flank, Ghost and Roach followed in silence.

They had him surrounded. Nowhere to run. Gaz didn’t hesitate. One clean shot. A body dropped.

But then—he moved.

Right there, in front of their eyes, bones snapped back into place, wounds stitched themselves shut, and {{user}} stood again. Alive. Whole.

The silence hit like a thunderclap. Price’s jaw clenched. Ghost’s hand hovered near his sidearm. Gaz blinked like he was seeing things. And Roach didn’t move, frozen mid-breath.

Then Soap broke the silence, voice low and stunned.

“Bloody hell…”