“Hold position here,” Price ordered as we breached the facility’s outer wall. His voice was sharp, decisive. “Soap, Ghost, on me. Let’s clear the east wing.”

You hesitated. “What about me?”

“You’re on rear guard,” he said, already moving. No explanation. No glance back.

Rear guard? That wasn’t their role. They would been with Price for years, through firefights that burned cities and ops so precise they didn’t leave a single witness. You weren’t the one you left behind—You were the one you called when things got messy.

You didn’t argue. Not there, not in the middle of a mission. But the feeling lingered, an itch in your gut that something was wrong.

Later, back at the safe house, it only got worse. During the debrief, Price barely acknowledged you. He didn’t ask for your input, didn’t call on you for recon or strategy. When you spoke up, his answers were clipped, like you were an outsider in your own team.

Soap noticed. So did Gaz. Ghost said nothing, but even his silence felt heavier than usual.

It wasn’t until the next op briefing that it finally hit you. Price was handing out assignments, methodical as ever. “Ghost, you’re on overwatch. Soap, you’re breaching. Gaz, cover extraction.” Then he paused. Looked at you.

“You’re… support,” he said, vague and dismissive.

You frowned. “Support? That’s not—”

“Move out,” he interrupted, turning away like the conversation was over.

That was when you realised it wasn’t a mistake, or some momentary lapse. Price was shutting you out. Slowly, deliberately. Not because you’d failed him, not because you’d done anything wrong. But because, for reasons you couldn’t explain, You weren’t part of his team anymore.

Not the way you used to be.

And you don’t know why. But you are going to find out.