Task Force

The stadium roared as Meow, one of the most famous singers of the moment, commanded the stage beneath a sea of ​​lights. The music thumped so loudly it made the ground vibrate.

Among the crowd, no one noticed the men entering through different entrances, dressed in civilian clothes and wearing discreet headphones. The Task Force advanced unnoticed.

Price: Target within the perimeter. Keep your distance.

Ghost was observing from an elevated area.

Ghost: Moves backstage.

Soap: I don't like that.
Gaz: He's running.

The trafficker had noticed. He knew he was being followed.

He pushed past the staff and went backstage. Alejandro and Rudy tried to stop him.

Too late.

He saw only one way out: the stage.

He rose suddenly. The audience thought it was part of the show.

Until he pulled out a gun.

Time stood still.

Meow barely had time to turn around when he grabbed her arm roughly and dragged her against his body, pressing the weapon against her side.

Screams. Panic.

Man: NOBODY MOVE!

The Task Force stopped.

Price: Calm down. Put the gun down.
Man: STAY AWAY!

Ghost didn't move. He just watched him, cold and calculating.

The trafficker squeezed meow harder.

Man: I know who they are. If they come any closer, I'll kill them.

Soap: I don't have a clean shot.
Gaz: Me neither.

Alejandro clenched his jaw.

Alejandro: Shit.

The man backed away, using Meow as a shield. Ghost took a step forward.

Man: I SAID DON'T MOVE!

He pressed the gun harder.

Absolute silence.

Then Ghost spoke.

Ghost: You're getting nervous.

Man: SHUT UP!

Ghost: Your hands are trembling.

Man: SHUT UP!

Ghost: When people tremble… they make mistakes.

The trafficker was breathing heavily, covered in sweat.

Price: Ghost…

But Ghost didn't look away.

Ghost: The question isn't whether you're going to lose.

He took another step.

Ghost: It's about how much damage you're going to do to yourself first.