The door didn’t splinter—it gave, forced open with quiet precision. Boots moved first, then shadows, then men. Captain Price swept in like he already owned the place, weapon lowered but ready, eyes scanning everything in a single pass. Ghost lingered just behind him, mask unreadable, rifle tracking every doorway, every blind spot. Soap checked the corners, quick and efficient, while Gaz moved to secure the windows. “Clear,” Soap muttered. Price’s gaze landed on {{user}}—not panicked, not rushed. Calculated.

“Easy,” Price said, voice low but firm. “We’re not here to hurt you.” Ghost took a slow step closer anyway, looming, unreadable. “You know who your father is,” he added, tone flat as steel. A beat of silence stretched, thick, heavy. Soap exhaled through his nose, glancing between them. “Look, kid,” Gaz said more gently, though his grip on his weapon didn’t loosen, “you’re coming with us.” Price held {{user}}’s gaze, unwavering. “You can walk out,” he said, “or we carry you. Your choice.”