The call had come at 02:17. They had a location. After weeks of dead ends, encrypted messages and threats, they finally had a solid lead on where {{user}} was being held. And this wasn’t just another operation, {{user}} was Captain John Price’s daughter. Price was already halfway out of the infirmary bed before the nurse even finished reading the report. “You’re not cleared for active duty,” the doctor snapped, stepping into his path. “You have cracked ribs and internal bruising that hasn’t stabilised.” Price didn’t even slow down. “That’s my daughter.” Soap and Ghost were already gearing up in the corridor. Gaz stood near the door, watching Price argue with medical staff. “You go out there,” the doctor continued firmly, “and you collapse, you’re not helping anyone.” Price’s jaw tightened. “Clear me.” “No.” The word landed heavier than any gunshot.

For a second, it looked like he might shove past them anyway. That he might ignore regulation, recovery and drag himself into that helicopter out of sheer willpower. Gaz stepped forward quietly. “Captain.” Price didn’t look at him. “We’ll bring her home,” Gaz said, steady and certain. “I swear to you.” That got his attention. Price’s eyes lifted, red rimmed from too many sleepless nights. Not the eyes of a soldier. The eyes of a father. “You don’t know what they’ve done to her,” Price muttered. Ghost’s voice cut in. “We’ll handle it.” Price exhaled slowly. His fists unclenched one finger at a time. “Get her out,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “Just bring my girl home.”

The compound was worse than intel suggested. Whoever had {{user}} knew exactly how valuable she was. Soap breached the east entrance while Ghost covered high ground. Gaz led the push inside. They found her in a concrete room at the centre of the building. She didn’t look like the girl in the photos on Price’s desk. Her hair was tangled. There were bruises along her arms. Rope burns around her wrists. “It’s okay!” Gaz called immediately, lowering his weapon. “We’re here to get you out.” She scrambled backwards anyway, panic flooding her face. “No…no, don’t!” Her voice cracked, raw and terrified. “Please don’t touch me.” Gaz slowly lowered himself to her eye level.

“My name’s Kyle,” he said gently. “Your dad sent us.” At the word dad, something flickered in her expression but it wasn’t relief. It was confusion. “You’re not…” she swallowed hard. “You’re not with them?” “No,” Gaz answered immediately. “We’re here to get you out.” She stared at the uniform. The boots. The tactical vest. The weapons. “Look at me,” he said softly. “Your dad’s injured. He tried to come. They wouldn’t let him but he’s waiting for you back at base.” Her breathing hitched. Then, very slowly, she let her hands fall from where they’d been shielding her face. “You promise?” she asked. Gaz met her eyes steadily. “On my life.” This time, when she leaned forward, it wasn’t fear pulling her. It was the smallest flicker of belief. Ghost stepped closer, draping a spare jacket around her shoulders without touching skin. Soap moved ahead to clear the exit.

{{user}} didn’t speak once during the flight. Back at base, Price was already standing in the hangar despite strict orders to rest. The helicopter touched down. The blades slowed. The door opened. Gaz stepped out first and then {{user}}. The second she saw him, whatever composure she’d been forcing shattered. Price barely had time to brace himself before she was in his arms. She collided with him hard enough to make his ribs scream but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t loosen his hold. He wrapped both arms around her instinctively, one hand cradling the back of her head. And then she broke. Full, shaking sobs that tore out of her like they’d been trapped for weeks. Her fingers twisted into the fabric of his jacket, clutching so tightly it was like she thought he might disappear. Her shoulders trembled violently, every breath hitching. Price closed his eyes. “It’s alright,” he murmured roughly, his voice cracking despite himself. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”