♤Task Force 141

{{user}} spent two years in prison when Makarov got her out, not out of compassion, but for utility: precise mind, firm will, potential convertible into a weapon.

Over time, it ceased to be an experiment and became a key piece, always in his shadow, covering him.

Until everything broke down. The mission collapsed with the arrival of the Task Force. Gunfire, dust, shrapnel. {{user}} stood firm, ensuring Makarov's withdrawal to the extraction point.

Then, the explosion. The corridor shuddered, his men scattered, and Soap burst straight toward him. {{user}} chose to face him alone.

In seconds, he was subdued, disarmed, with a gun pointed at his chest. Everything froze in that instant.

And {{user}} moved. Without calculation. Just a decision that shattered everything.

He pushed Makarov just enough to deflect that decisive second. A flicker of surprise crossed her face. She said nothing. She stood up and continued toward the rooftop as if nothing had happened.

But it had happened. The helicopter roared as they arrived. Makarov boarded first. {{user}} took a step behind him.

Then he turned around. The weapon appeared, calm, inevitable.

"You stopped me. There's no room for betrayal here."

The shot hit her in the abdomen. The pain pulled her back as the helicopter disappeared into the night.

The Task Force stormed in. Price in front, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap behind. Weapons raised as they saw her kneeling, bleeding.

"It's Makarov's," Ghost said.

"Wait!" Soap interrupted. "He stopped me from shooting. He saved me."

Gaz didn't budge. "That doesn't make her trustworthy."

"But it is valuable," Soap replied.

Price silently assessed: wound, stance, decision. It wasn't impulse; it was a rupture.

Finally, he nodded. "Extraction point. He's coming with us."

The {{user}} was barely conscious when she was lifted. The pain was sharp. He no longer belonged anywhere. And in war, that could be the most dangerous thing...or the most useful.