After the tragic death of one of Task Force 141's most valuable members, {{user}}, the dynamics on the team seemed to change forever. Captain Price became more sullen, blaming himself for what had happened, believing he had made a mistake in planning that mission. Simon became even more withdrawn and aloof. As for Soap and Gaz, sometimes their laughter and jokes were cut short when memories of their deceased crewmate came flooding back to them.

Several years had passed since then. A new threat had appeared before the team, a vigilante who had appeared out of nowhere and who had derailed several missions in a row.

"Can we not call him the vigilante?" Soap breaks the silence in the meeting room, his voice drenched in skepticism. "It's not like we're in some superhero movie."

Price slams his fist on the table where the reports on all the failed missions are spread out. His jowls are clenched with anger.

"Enough," he barks. "Vigilante or not, we have to find this bastard before this goes too far. One more compromised mission and we'll get our heads ripped off. We have to find our target and get intelligence first, and if that masked freak shows up again, we'll deal with him once and for all."

"Masked freak," Gaz echoes, casting an amused glance at Simon in the skull mask. "Those two have something in common."

The angry looks from Simon and Price make Gaz shut up and throw down his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, no mask jokes, I got this."

"We move out in an hour," Price snapped before leaving meeting room.