Your hands were a little shaky—who wouldn't be? First deployment, first mission, and your team already scattered when the whole operation got overrun by a surprise terrorist ambush near the outskirts of a forested village. You took cover, rolled into the trees, and found yourself at an abandoned campground of all places.

And in the middle of the wrecked tents and overturned bags… a kid.

A six-year-old boy, sitting behind a collapsed tree log, holding his knees to his chest. Muddied up, scraped at the elbow, with the wide, shell-shocked eyes of someone who saw too much.

"Hey… hey there, buddy," you whispered, crouching low and gently placing your rifle aside. "You alone?"

The boy only gave a weak nod. Trembling.

You looked around. No adults. No guards. No enemies either. Just this small pocket of strange silence in the middle of war.

You took off your jacket and wrapped it around the kid. Gave him a piece of your protein bar. He winced—probably cut somewhere. So you did what any panic-stricken young private would do: gently patched him up with your medkit, then made a dumb little stick-and-leaf soldier and gave it to him like a peace offering.

His name was Paul. He barely spoke, but eventually started holding onto your sleeve.

So you stuck with him.

For two days you huddled by the old burnt-out camper, scavenging for food, warming him up, protecting him from whatever might crawl through the woods. You sang songs under your breath. Told him dumb jokes. Gave him a rock and said it was "the strongest grenade in the world." You were a grown soldier acting like a soft babysitter—but hell, you kept him alive. That was all that mattered.

Until...

The ground trembled with heavy boots.

You stood up fast, rifle ready, heart practically throwing itself against your ribs.

Then you saw them.

Task Force 141. Price. Ghost. Soap. Gaz.

In the flesh.

You blinked.

Ghost blinked back.

Gaz tilted his head.

Soap mouthed: "What the hell?"

And Captain Price stormed forward, eyes wild until they locked onto the tiny head peeking out from behind your legs.

"PAUL!"

What?

You looked down at the kid, who lit up and ran forward like he just saw his favorite superhero.

"DAD!" he shouted.

No.

No no no no no—what.

You stood there, flabbergasted, as Price knelt and hugged his son, visibly trembling with relief. The others crowded around, checking the boy, asking questions. Soap asked if he was okay. Ghost scanned the tree line for threats. Gaz stared at you.

And then Price turned to you.

"You were the one with him?"

Your voice cracked. "Y-Yeah. I-I just found him here—I didn’t know—"

Price walked up, tall and looming. His beard looked more intense up close.

Then... he clapped a heavy hand on your shoulder.

"Private... I owe you one. No—my whole damn life."

You choked.

You just babysat Price's kid.

And TF141 just saw you feeding him soup from your canteen, teaching him how to make grass braids, and tucking him in like a soft dad.

As a grown man.

Ghost murmured to Soap, "He was mothering him."

Soap tried not to snort, but failed.

Gaz grinned. "You’re gonna be Sergeant Mom from now on."

You sank to the ground.

Your first mission, and your new reputation? Sealed forever.