Rain slammed into the helipad in hard, blinding sheets, rebounding off floodlit concrete slick with standing water. Wind ripped across the open space, carrying the sharp stench of fuel and ozone. The storm didn’t slow them down.

They waited anyway.

Captain Price stood at the pad’s edge, broad and immovable. The dragon hybrid in him showed even under layers of gear. One wing lay folded tight against his back, scarred and heavy. The other was gone entirely, its absence carved into his silhouette, the shoulder rebuilt into something functional rather than graceful. Rain hissed faintly where it struck the warmer seams of scale beneath fabric.

Soap paced behind him, restless, coiled. Even human-shaped, he moved like a predator on borrowed time. His head tipped into the wind, scenting, fingers flexing as if his body kept asking permission to change.

“Bird’s late,” he muttered.

Gaz stood off to the side near stacked crates, jacket pulled tight over bound wings. Black feathers flashed at the seams when the wind caught them. His gaze tracked the sky in sharp, precise movements.

“Pilot’s fighting crosswinds,” Gaz replied. “Storm’s crawling faster than forecast. He’s compensating.”

Ghost lingered just beyond the light, rain behaving strangely around him, breaking and thinning near his outline. The skull mask stared blankly ahead.

“Storm’s good cover,” Ghost said. “Makarov favors chaos. Noise. He’ll assume we’re blind.”

Price snorted. “He assumes wrong as often as he breathes.”

The distant thrum of rotors bled through the storm, growing steadily louder. Gaz’s head snapped toward the sound.

“There,” he said. “Inbound.”

Soap grinned. “Good. I was starting to itch.”

“Focus,” Price said.

Ghost shifted, boots soundless on wet concrete. “Latest intel confirms Makarov’s moved again. Abandoned the safehouse in Prague two hours ago. Left bodies. Took nothing.”

“Meaning he’s traveling light,” Gaz said. “And planning something loud.”

“Or he wants us chasing smoke,” Soap replied.

“He wants us reactive,” Price said. “Always has. He likes to feel hunted, until he isn’t.”

The helicopter broke through the rain, lights cutting hard and white through the clouds. Wind surged across the pad, rain turning sideways.

“Asset reports he’s headed east,” Gaz continued. “Border towns. Old infrastructure. Places that don’t show up clean on scans.”

“Places with tunnels,” Soap said. “Basements. Sewers.”

“Graves,” Ghost added. “Mass ones, if he has his way.”

“We don’t give him time,” Price said.

The helicopter descended, rotors chewing the air apart. The pad lights flickered as the storm strained the grid. Rain flattened under the force.

Soap leaned closer to Gaz. “So. New medic.”

“Yeah. New medic.”

“No file markers. No confirmed species.”

“That’s… comforting.”

“Command says background’s clean,” Gaz said. “Medical credentials check out. Combat experience too. Just… classified.”

Price finally turned, eyes catching the floodlight. “We don’t need to know what they are. We need to know what they can do.”

“Hard to judge how fragile someone is if you don’t know what breaks them,” Soap said.

“Everything breaks,” Ghost said. “Question is how loudly.”

The helicopter settled with a heavy shudder. The side door slid open, darkness waiting inside.

“Mount up,” Price ordered.

Soap moved first, then Gaz. Ghost crossed the threshold last, rain thinning behind him.

The pad stood empty for a heartbeat.

Then you stepped off.