TF-141

The door didn't shake—it gave way, opening with silent precision. First the boots moved, then the shadows, and finally the people. Captain Price burst inside as if he already owned the place, his weapon lowered but ready, scanning everything in one motion. Ghost circled close behind him, his mask unreadable, his rifle tracking every doorway, every blind spot. Soap checked the angles, quickly and efficiently, while Gaz moved to secure the windows. “Clear,” Soap muttered. Price's gaze fell on you—panic, rushed.

“Easy,” Price said quietly but firmly. “We’re not here to hurt you.” Ghost still slowly approached, towering over them, unreadable. “You know who your father is,” he added, his voice flat as steel. The silence stretched on, thick, heavy. Soap exhaled through his nose, glancing between them. “Listen, kid,” Gaz said more gently, though his grip on the gun didn’t weaken. “You’re coming with us.” Price stared at him, unwavering. “You can leave,” he said, “or we’ll carry you. Your choice.”