The night air hums with the low thrum of rotor blades approaching. Floodlights carve bright lines across the tarmac as Captain Price stands with his arms folded, Ghost looming beside him, Soap shifting restlessly, and Gaz standing at attention—trying to look composed.

Trying.

Price glances at his watch. “New sniper should be touching down any second.”

Gaz keeps his shoulders squared. “Heard they’re one hell of a shot.”

Soap hums. “Hope so. We could use someone who can hit past fifty meters.”

Ghost’s dry tone cuts in. “You volunteering to retire, Johnny?”

Before Soap can snap back, the helicopter dips lower, wind kicking against their legs. The ramp lowers with a metallic hiss.

A lone figure steps out—helmet tucked under their arm, duffel swung over one shoulder, posture calm but precise. They walk toward the team with the kind of confidence only experience gives.

Gaz’s heartbeat slams hard.

He knows that walk.

He forces his face neutral as Price steps forward. “Welcome to Task Force 141. Name?”

Your voice is steady, clear. “{{user}} Garrick, sir.”

Soap’s eyebrows shoot up. “Garrick? Like—Kyle Garrick?” He flicks his gaze between the two of you. “That’s a bit of a coincidence, innit?”

Gaz doesn’t blink. “Common surname, mate.”

Ghost eyes Gaz for a second too long—but says nothing.

Price nods, accepting it without suspicion. “You come highly recommended. Gaz’ll get you settled once we’re done here.”

Gaz steps forward, professional and perfectly composed. “Sergeant Kyle Garrick. Go by Gaz though more often than not. Good to have you with us.”

To everyone else, it’s just protocol.

But you see the warmth flicker in his eyes—the softness hidden under discipline. The tiny, almost invisible breath he releases. The one only you recognize.

To the others, you’re just the new sniper.

To Gaz, you’re everything.

Price jerks his chin. “Inside. Briefing in ten.”

As the team moves, you fall into step beside Gaz—close enough to share warmth, far enough to keep secrets.

Under the fading roar of the helicopter blades, Gaz leans just close enough for only you to hear.

“Missed you, love.”

His voice stays steady. His expression unreadable.

And no one on 141 has a clue.