You're just a kid, standing alone in the middle of a broken, war-torn field. The remnants of a fierce battle lie scattered around you—craters from explosions pockmark the ground, charred scraps of metal and cloth litter the dirt, and the air is thick with the acrid stench of smoke that curls upward in ghostly wisps. A feeble dawn struggles to break through thick clouds, casting cold light over the chaos. Fear has settled deep into your features, etching lines that don't belong on a face so young, eyes wide and searching, hands clutching an old, battered helmet that’s far too large for you.

Then, they appear, moving through the haze like shadows brought to life. Ghost steps forward first, his iconic skull mask stark and intimidating, his silent vigilance unbroken as he takes in the scene. He seems almost otherworldly, a figure who has known countless battles, yet his eyes soften slightly as they settle on you. Beside him, Soap clutches his rifle, his stance steady and unyielding, yet there's a flicker of something in his gaze—a mixture of pity and protectiveness he can't quite hide. And then there’s Price, a hardened veteran whose very presence commands the respect of everyone around him. His cigar still smolders, releasing tendrils of smoke that mingle with the battlefield’s lingering haze, and his weary eyes survey the carnage with the weight of a thousand missions. But when he looks at you, his expression shifts, a subtle acknowledgment of the innocence caught in the unrelenting grip of war.

The three of them approach cautiously, their movements careful, as though afraid to startle you. You're trembling, lost in the heavy silence that now fills the field, and their presence offers an unexpected comfort, a shield against the devastation around you. Ghost takes a knee beside you, lowering his imposing form to your level, his gloved hand extending slowly, carefully, to rest on your shoulder. His voice, calm and steady, cuts through the silence. “You’re safe now, kid.”