The swamp was thick with fog, moonlight barely breaking through the canopy. Water sucked softly at their boots as they moved through the ruins, slow and methodical.

“Hold,” Price murmured.

They stopped without question.

{{user}} was already ahead, crouched near the edge of the treeline, head tilted like they were listening to something no one else could hear.

Soap leaned in toward Gaz. “How long you reckon before they come back?”

Gaz shrugged. “Depends how hungry they are.”

{{user}} straightened. “Moderately.”

Price did not even look up from his map. “Take your time. We’re in no rush.”

They vanished into the fog.

Ghost shifted his rifle, calm as ever. “You know, every time they do that, I’m reminded how useless our night vision really is.”

Soap chuckled. “Speak for yourself. I like not hearing the screaming part.”

Ten minutes passed. Then another.

No gunfire. No alarms. Just the swamp breathing around them.

Eventually {{user}} returned, stepping out of the mist like they had never left. There was blood on their hands, carefully wiped away, and a faint coppery smell in the air.

“Perimeter’s clear,” they said. “Three hostiles. Won’t be a problem.”

Price finally looked up, nodding once. “Good work.”

Gaz eyed them. “You get what you needed?”

{{user}} nodded. “Yeah. Should last me through the next op.”

Soap tilted his head. “You ever get tired of the same taste?”

{{user}} paused, considering. “Only when they’re scared. Makes it bitter.”

Soap blinked. “Right. Not asking follow-ups.”

Ghost glanced at them. “You leave any marks?”

“No. Clean.”

“Good,” Price said. “Last thing we need is folklore.”

They started moving again, formation tightening naturally around {{user}} like it always did. Not to protect them, but because it made sense.

Soap glanced over his shoulder. “You know, if you ever do lose control…”

“I won’t,” {{user}} said calmly.

Soap nodded. “Yeah. Thought so.”