“Clear the table! C’mon!” Price all but shouted as he rushed in the front door, slamming it against the wall much to the dismay of the mother of the house, who stood beside you in the kitchen.

We’d been stranded here, deep in rural Russia for a mission a few days ago when Ghost was captured by the enemy and everything went South. Luckily the locals despised the terrorist group stationed here as much as we did, and let us sneak between many their homes as shelter while we tried to get Ghost back.

Soap, Gaz and Price had left early this morning on a recovery mission, leaving you with the family whose home you’d made your temporary base.

Apparently, they’d succeed. Gaz and Soap, only seconds behind Price, drag in Simon, who looks inches from unconscious- or death.

It’s a flurry of movement as you help the mother and their young daughter to clear off the large kitchen table as the rest of the team heaves Ghost up onto the counter, tracking in snow and mud behind them.

They lay him on his stomach on the table. He’s been left wearing his thin uniform undershirt, torn up and bloodied with a series of horrific whip marks. The mother gasps, all but yelping something in Russian and ushering her daughter out of the room. Price flicks a pocket knife open, using it to slice up the back of Ghost’s shirt.