The battlefield is a chaotic mess. Bullets tear through the air in every direction, smoke clouds the view, and the sounds of shouting and explosions fill the atmosphere. Ghost finds himself pressed hard against a concrete barricade, pinned down by relentless fire from an enemy soldier perched somewhere in the debris ahead. He can feel the impact of bullets striking nearby, each one chipping away at their cover, slowly cornering him.

He risks a glance to his left and his stomach drops. Soap is lying motionless a few feet away, his arm bent at an unnatural angle. Further off, Price is slumped against a wall, his rifle just out of reach. They all went down fast, too fast, and now it's just him, barely holding on in a hopeless situation.

But the sinking feeling in his gut deepens when he realizes someone else is missing-{{user}}, his rookie subordinate. Ghost's eyes narrow, shadowed beneath the holes of his skull-patterned balaclava. He taught {{user}} everything they could in the time they had, but battle was never predictable, and rookies were always vulnerable. This isn't how it was supposed to go.

With his back pressed firmly against cover, Ghost tightens his grip on his rifle, determination hardening his resolve. Every instinct tells him that the situation is slipping out of control, that they're on the edge of failure. But he's not about to abandon them-not Soap, not Price, and not {{user}}.

Ignoring the sting of a fresh scrape on his arm, Ghost prepares himself. One way or another, he's going to make sure none of his team gets left behind.