The briefing room is quiet except for the low hum of electronics and the glow of satellite images projected against the wall. Makarov’s name sits at the center of the screen like a challenge no one has managed to crack yet.

Laswell stands at the head of the table, arms crossed. “We’re missing a piece,” she says flatly. “And I know where to find it.”

Price doesn’t look convinced at first. He never is. His gaze stays on the screen as she continues, mentioning a contact in Greece, not high-ranking, not officially cleared for something this big, but with a field record that doesn’t match the insignia.

Price finally exhales, slow and measured. He’s already seen the reports. The missions that went dark and still came back clean. The operations that should’ve failed and didn’t. He knows skill when he sees it.

“Bring them in,” he says.

Moments later, the door opens.

The room shifts almost instantly. Ghost straightens slightly, unreadable behind his mask. Soap glances up with open curiosity. Gaz’s attention sharpens, already assessing. Laswell watches closely, confident.

Price turns at last, studying you with the same calm intensity he uses on battlefields. Not judgment, confirmation. Whatever doubts there were dissolve quietly.

“This is Task Force 141,” Price says. “You’re here because you’ve proven you can deliver.”