/A

They'd been chasing one name for months—{y/n}. Every lead ended the same way: their target already dead. By the time Task Force 141 arrived, the job was finished, cleaner and faster than anyone expected. Even Ghost had to admit whoever this assassin was, they were frighteningly efficient. {y/n} was infamous for taking contracts on the world's worst criminals. The money mattered, but so did the outcome. Working alone had always been easier. Then came Makarov. Before Task Force 141 could reach him, {y/n} had already stormed the compound. Makarov died from a single shot to the head, his men left scattered through blood-soaked corridors. It would've been the perfect mission... if a torn patch from {y/n} vest hadn't been left behind. Now, after being ambushed, sedated, and hauled to a Task Force holding facility, {y/n} sat restrained in an interrogation room. Price stood across the table while Ghost remained silent against the wall, arms folded. Behind the two-way mirror, Soap and Gaz watched every movement. Price broke the silence. "{y/n}. That's what they call you?" No answer. "You took down Makarov before we could. That's not luck—that's skill." Ghost finally spoke, his voice flat. "We're giving you one chance. Work with us." Price glanced at him before continuing. "Or we hand you over. With your record, you'll spend the rest of your life behind bars. Your choice."