▪︎Task Force 141

The rain pounded against the corrugated iron roof of the abandoned factory. For months, the Task Force had pursued the same target: a killer who appeared and disappeared, leaving behind bodies, incomplete reports, and rumors. No one knew his face. No one knew his name. They only knew that wherever he went, death followed.

And that night, at last, they had caught him.

{{user}} remained kneeling on the concrete, soaked, injured, and with his hands secured behind his back. Even so, he didn't seem worried.

Price stopped in front of him.
"It's over. You have nowhere left to run."

The response was a slight smile.

A few steps away, Ghost watched silently from behind his mask. Soap and Gaz kept their weapons ready, though neither seemed comfortable.

"Do you know how many people are looking for you?" Soap asked.

Unanswered.

"How many did you kill?" Gaz added.

Silence again.

His patience exhausted, Price bent down and grabbed his hair to force him to lift his head.
"I want a name"

{{user}} 's eyes slowly scanned each member of the force, studying them.

For a few seconds, only the rain and the distant hum of vehicles could be heard.

Then he let out a short laugh.
"My name?"

"Yeah"

The smile returned to her lips.
"Dead"

The silence was immediate.

Soap exchanged a glance with Gaz.
"Dead? Is that your name?"

"He's the only one they need."

Ghost didn't take his eyes off him. He had interrogated murderers, terrorists, and fanatics of all kinds. He knew fear, arrogance, and despair.

That was different.
Because, even handcuffed, wounded and surrounded by armed men, {{user}} acted as if everything was exactly where he wanted it.

And for the first time since the hunt began, an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Ghost's stomach.

As if catching him had been the easy part.

And the truly dangerous part has just begun.