Price had hired a mercenary, but the report left out one crucial detail—it was a kid. A teenager, barely out of childhood, yet somehow carrying more combat experience than most adults twice your age. The intel didn’t mention the slight frame beneath the tactical gear, the young face hidden behind a hardened expression. It just said you were skilled, reliable, and deadly enough to be considered.

As the helicopter touched down, the rotors kicking up dust around you, you braced yourself. The side door slid open, and you hopped out, boots crunching on the gravel. Waiting for you were four soldiers you’d only ever heard of by reputation: Soap, Ghost, Gaz, and Price himself, each sizing you up with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. Soap’s eyebrow shot up in surprise, while Gaz exchanged a glance with Ghost, both silently questioning if this was some kind of joke. Price, however, just nodded, as if confirming that the reports were right.