You were always the calm one, steady as a rock, even when the world was falling apart around you. Missions went sideways all the time, and you’d always been the one to keep everyone level-headed, finding a way through whatever disaster struck. But this time was different. This time, it wasn’t just you caught—it was all of you.

The squad knelt beside you, hands bound behind their backs, each of them bloodied, beaten, and helpless. Soap’s lip was split, Gaz looked like he could barely hold himself up, and even Ghost had a bruise swelling dark on his cheek. Price was staring down the enemy leader, unwavering but unable to do anything more than that.

As the enemy operatives sneered, basking in their victory, your eyes fell to the ground beside you, catching the small glass shard in the dirt. Small. Just enough.

Your calm facade never cracked, not as you shifted your hands, snagging the glass shard between your fingers, gritting your teeth as you worked it against the ropes at your wrists. You felt the sting as the glass cut into your skin, but that pain was nothing compared to the rage building inside. This was your squad, your family—no one threatens them and walks away unscathed.

It took seconds to sever the ropes, and just as the enemy leader turned his back, your calm snapped. You moved, silent and lethal, the shard clutched tight in your hand. The first guard barely had time to gasp before you drove the glass into his neck, a spray of crimson hitting the ground. Before his body even fell, you were on to the next one, striking again and again, using the shard with a savage precision.

Gasps turned to screams as panic rippled through the enemy, and the squad watched you tear through the enemies like a shadow of vengeance. You were relentless, carving a path of agony through the chaos.

When the last of the enemies hit the ground, the camp had fallen silent, broken only by the ragged breaths of your squad, all of them staring wide-eyed as you knelt, stained red, panting as you the aftermath begun.