It was supposed to be a routine mission.

A simple extraction—quiet, clean, in and out. Infiltrate under the cover of darkness, clear out the building, secure intel, drugs, weapons—whatever we could find—eliminate as many hostiles as possible, and exfil. Easy.

But fate had other plans.

The ambush hit us hard. Gunfire erupted from all directions, explosions rattled the crumbling walls, and in the chaos, our comms went dead. No way to call for backup, no way to regroup. We were scattered, fighting in the dark, the only sounds being the sharp cracks of bullets and the distant echoes of detonations.

You and Ghost moved as one, shadows slipping through the ruined corridors, silent and calculated. The mission had changed—finding the rest of the team and getting the hell out was now priority one. But in this mess, tracking them down was near impossible.

Then—a noise.

Both of you froze. A rustle just up ahead, too subtle to be random debris. Your eyes met Ghost’s, reading each other instantly. A nod, and you moved forward, rifle raised, breath steady. He followed close behind.

Rounding the corner, pain ripped through you—a white-hot blade sinking deep into your stomach. The force knocked the breath from your lungs, a sharp gasp escaping before you staggered, dropping your gun to the floor.

Your eyes shot up, meeting Soap’s.

His expression shifted in an instant—battle-ready focus morphing into pure horror as he realized his mistake.

“Fuck!”

Instinctively, he yanked the knife free, making it worse. Your legs gave out, and you crumpled to the floor.

Distantly, through the haze of agony, you heard Ghost’s voice—raw, panicked, unrestrained.

“No!”