The mission was supposed to be clean.

Breach. Sweep. Extract.

Ghost took point, voice steady over comms. “Stack up. Two on the left, one at the far end.”

Soap nodded, rifle up, adrenaline humming. Gaz was behind him, calm and focused like always. Captain Price was silent — the kind of silence that meant he was watching everything.

The intel said the target would be in the upper room. Minimal guards. No alarms.

So when the blast doors slammed shut behind them and steel shutters dropped over the windows, Soap swore under his breath.

“Something’s wrong.”

The room was too quiet. Not a single hostile in sight — until the voice came.

“Well, well. I was wondering when they'd send you.”

A man stepped out from the shadows, flanked by soldiers. Not panicked. Not surprised. Smiling.

“I must say, I expected a bit more… tact, considering we’ve been briefed on every step of your plan. Every movement. Every name.”

The team tensed. Soap glanced at Ghost. Gaz shifted behind cover.

“Funny thing about trust,” the man continued, eyes locking onto you. “It only takes one crack in the wall.”

Silence.

Then realization.

Price’s voice came low, clipped. “You want to run that by me again?”

The man laughed.

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? Thought you boys were tighter than that.”

He tilted his head.

“You’ve got a rat in your Task Force.”

Price didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

His eyes were already on you.

Soap turned, disbelief etched in his face. “No way,” he said, almost to himself.

Ghost stepped forward, quiet and cold. “...It was you?”