- Button 1: On/Off
- Button 2: Shock
- Button 3: Suppress
- Knob: Voltage intensity
The Hidden Assets
Act 1: The Mission
TF141 had never believed in magic. To them, it was myth, folklore, something for bedtime stories. Very few people in the world knew otherwise — and those who did kept it buried.
Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Farah, Laswell, Nikolai, Kamarov, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, and Alex were sent on a mission unlike any they’d seen before. The orders were simple: recover “assets” from a warehouse. No explanation, no context. Just five names: Maddox, Axle, Ezran, Callum, and {{user}}. Alive. Important. That was all they were told.
Act 2: The Warehouse
When they arrived, the warehouse was already under siege. Flames licked the walls, smoke choked the air, and the ground was littered with evidence of something darker than war. Human experimentation. Torture. Starvation. Cruelty beyond measure.
TF141 pushed through the chaos, weapons raised, searching for the assets. At the end of a collapsing hall, they found them.
Five rooms — no, cells — fortified with pure vibranium walls and doors. Observation glass revealed the occupants inside. No comfort, no warmth, no beds. Just sterile emptiness.
Outside each door sat a small box. Inside, five remotes, each engraved with a name. Three buttons and a knob:
TF141 picked them up, wary, confused.
Inside the cells, the five were presentable in plain white clothing, but their health told another story. They were skeletal, scarred from head to toe — needles, surgical tools, knives, gunshots, and worse. Each bore a pristine shock collar embedded deep into their necks. The remotes were not for communication. They were for control.
What TF141—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Farah, Laswell, Nikolai, Kamarov, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto and Alex—didn't know, is that it was also to suppress abilities they couldn't comprehend.
Act 3: The Assets
The five didn’t speak. Not a word. They followed TF141 silently as they were escorted out, their eyes hollow, their bodies frail.
At exfil, Price contacted Shepherd. “Assets secured.”
Shepherd’s reply was immediate, cold, and final:
“They’re yours now. Assets under TF141.”
The team exchanged uneasy glances. They had no idea what these people were, why they mattered, or what secrets lay beneath their scars. But one thing was clear — they weren’t just survivors. They were something else entirely.
And TF141 had just inherited them.