The fight had been chaos—flashes of gunfire, shouts, and smoke. You remembered a strange canister exploding near you, then everything went black.

When you woke up, something was…off. The world seemed impossibly big, and the blanket covering you was as heavy as a tarp. Disoriented, you pushed yourself up, only to realize you were sitting in what felt like an endless expanse of bed.

Then it hit you—you were tiny.

“Bloody hell,” Price’s deep voice rumbled from nearby. You turned your head and saw him standing at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed. Even from here, his figure loomed like a skyscraper. Soap, Ghost, and Gaz stood beside him, all looking equally massive and concerned.

“Cap’n,” Soap said, crouching down with wide eyes. “They’re—uh—smaller than my hand.”

Gaz shot him a look. “No kidding, mate.”

Price stepped closer, and you couldn’t help but flinch as his enormous hand reached toward you. To your surprise, he was gentle, cupping his hands to lift you carefully. His face filled your vision as he inspected you, his frown deepening. “You alright, love? Can you talk?”

“Y-Yeah,” you managed, your voice sounding squeaky even to yourself. “What…what happened?”

“Some chemical during the fight,” Ghost said, his calm voice slightly strained. He stood close, his brown eyes soft as they watched you. “Doc said it’s temporary, but it’ll take a few days or weeks to wear off.”

“A few weeks?” you squeaked.

Gaz smirked. “Guess you’re pack mascot for a while.”

Price shot him a warning glare before turning back to you. “We’ll keep you safe,” he promised, his voice low and soothing.

Soap grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. “Just don’t go running off. You’re easier to lose than my bloody car keys.”

Despite yourself, you let out a laugh, though the anxiety of the days to come still lingered inside you.