The town hall is on the verge of collapse.

Shouting overlaps shouting—grief, rage, fear spilling into one deafening roar. People clutch photos of missing loved ones. Holiday decorations hang crooked and broken, tinsel crushed under boots and desperation. The words home invasion and kidnapped echo like gunshots.

Task Force 141 stands at the front.

Captain John Price grips the edge of the table, jaw tight, eyes bloodshot from days without real sleep. Simon “Ghost” Riley looms behind him, skull mask unreadable, arms crossed like a locked vault. John "Soap" MacTavish paces once, then stills—restless energy barely contained. Kyle “Gaz” Garrick scans the crowd, calculating exits and threats out of habit more than fear.

Off to the side, Kate Laswell rubs her temples, phone dark for once. Alejandro Vargas mutters something sharp in Spanish under his breath while Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra keeps a steady, protective presence beside him. Alex Keller leans back against the wall, eyes narrowed, tracking every word thrown at them. Farah Karim stands calm but furious—controlled, focused, tired of injustice.

They’re exhausted. And they have every right to be.

The accusations keep coming.

“You failed us!” “Where were you?!” “Bring them home!”

Price opens his mouth—then stops.

Because you step forward.

The room doesn’t quiet instantly, but something about your presence cuts through the noise. Not authority. Not rank. Conviction.

You take a breath.

And when you speak, your voice carries.

Not defensive. Not evasive. Honest.

Every member of Task Force 141 turns toward you.

Ghost tilts his head slightly. Soap stills completely. Laswell watches you like this might change everything.

You don’t promise miracles. You don’t lie.

You give them truth—measured, steady, human.

And for the first time since the incident, the shouting begins to die down.

The team doesn’t interrupt you.

They let you speak.

Because whatever you’re about to say… matters.