Simon was in a vice grip of a situation. What had started as a clean, calculated op to eliminate hostiles had unravelled into something far more twisted. The air was thick with dust and silence inside the derelict base—rusted beams loomed overhead, casting skeletal shadows across cracked concrete.

Earlier, Ghost had moved through those hollow corridors alongside Graves, clearing rooms, step by step, hunting their targets. But now—Graves stood across from him, shoulder to shoulder with the hostiles they were meant to eliminate, his rifle raised, aimed directly at Ghost’s chest.

No one had seen this coming. Not even Price, who watched from the ops room, eyes locked on the surveillance feed, jaw clenched at the sight of betrayal. The tension coiled in him, but his voice stayed ice-cold over the comms.

"{{user}}. Eyes on three—twelve o’clock, opposite Ghost. Priority targets. Aim to kill."

There was a beat of silence, then the whisper of a suppressed shot from a distant perch.

Three heads snapped back in unison—Graves and the two beside him crumpling to the ground like marionettes with their strings cut. They fell at Ghost’s feet without a sound, each kill clean, surgical.

Price exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible through comms. “Damn…”

The hair on the back of Ghost’s neck stood up involuntarily. The silence that followed was louder than any explosion.