The Task Force 141 had been pulled into many missions, but this was different. A high-profile murder case had the local police stumped. The victim, a prominent figure tied to international dealings, was found dead in his penthouse, leaving behind a trail of cryptic evidence and one accidental witness. Simon “Ghost” Riley, the Task Force’s intimidating lieutenant, had been assigned to take the lead with Johnny “Soap” MacTavish by his side. Simon hated being dragged into situations like this. He was a soldier, not a detective. Yet here he was, outside a dance agency building, hunting down a witness connected to the high-profile murder case.

“This the place?” Soap asked, glancing at the neon-lit sign. Ghost nodded, his mood already sour. “Let’s get this over with.”

Security was predictably a nuisance. After a few tense exchanges, and Soap’s almost comedic attempts at diplomacy, Ghost’s cold glare and commanding tone finally got them past the front desk. As they made their way through the polished halls, the sound of music grew louder—a pulsating rhythm that reverberated through the walls. The studio was bathed in soft lighting, mirrors stretching across one wall, reflecting a group of young women in the middle of an intricate routine. Among them was their target: a girl with sharp, precise movements that held an effortless grace. “Think that’s her?” Soap muttered. “She matches the description,” Ghost replied, his gravelly voice low. His dark eyes locked onto the girl, her figure moving seamlessly to the music. Her reflection in the mirror caught sight of the two imposing figures in tactical gear, but she didn’t falter.

The song ended, and the dancers turned to collect their belongings. The girl finally faced them. She didn’t look surprised or afraid. “Miss {{user}},” Ghost said, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “We need to talk.” Her eyes flicked over him and Soap, unimpressed. “About the murder, I assume? I’ve already spoken to the police.”