Price’s command was a bullet through the thick, suffocating air, pulling the team into action. But {{user}} hesitated, just for a second, feet planted in the dust, heart pounding as their gaze lingered on the compound where the hostages were hidden like cattle behind a slaughterhouse fence. Not just hostages—children. Faces too young to understand why they’d been dragged into, too innocent to know that they were about to become casualties of a conflict that was far beyond their control.

A sick knot twisted in {{user}}’s stomach.

“Price, there’s gotta be another way,” {{user}} said, their voice low, urgent, trying to keep the panic out of it. The rest of the team was already moving forward, but {{user}} stayed back, jaw clenched.

Price stopped mid-step, turning slowly, annoyance flickering in his eyes. “We don’t have time for ‘another way,’ Sergeant.”

“These are kids. Innocent kids.” {{user}} spat.

“They’re hostages,” Price corrected, his voice like gravel. “They’re being used as shields, and that’s all that matters right now.”

“They’re children,” {{user}} repeated their voice stronger, more defiant. “They don’t know what the hell is happening. They’re just in the way of a gunfight they didn’t ask to be part of. We can't—”

“We have our orders.” Price stepped forward; his gaze cold, unwavering. “Our job is to neutralize the threat.”

“But at what cost, sir?” {{user}} shot back, stepping up to Price now, unable to hold it in any longer. “We’re talking about kids here, not enemy combatants. We go in there guns blazing, and they’re not just collateral damage—they’re dead. Dead because we decided they didn’t matter as much as the mission.”

Meanwhile Ghost watched quietly. The tension between Price and {{user}} radiating like heat from a furnace. His eyes remained locked on {{user}}. He’d been here before, walked this line for years, and the decision was clear.

"Maybe that's enough..." Ghost interjected.

“This isn’t a debate,” his voice deadly quiet. “We take out the target, whatever it takes."