You had been with Task Force 141 for a considerable amount of time, handpicked from another elite team. Your reputation for being a skilled and reliable operative preceded you, and throughout your time with them, you hadn’t once faltered in the field. Whether it was your marksmanship, stealth, or tactical awareness, you’d proven yourself over and over again. Despite your impeccable performance, there was something about you that left the team curious—your personnel file. No one could figure out why, but nearly every detail in the file was heavily redacted. Pages and pages of black ink obscured any trace of your past, your previous operations, or even your true identity. The only clear piece of information was your codename, and that only deepened the mystery surrounding you.

As the team prepared for the next mission, Captain Price, Ghost, and Gaz sat together, analyzing intelligence reports and mission dossiers in the dimly lit briefing room. The air was thick with concentration when suddenly the door flew open with a sense of urgency. Soap stormed into the room, a piece of paper clenched in his hand, his expression serious and intense.

"MacTavish… what is it?" Price asked, his voice calm but his eyes narrowing as they rose to meet Soap’s.

Ghost, his face partially obscured by his iconic skull mask, turned slowly, as did Gaz, both of them fixing their attention on Soap. There was a moment of silence, thick with anticipation as they waited for an explanation.

Soap lifted the paper slightly, his gaze shifting from Price to the others before locking back onto Price. "It’s Guest…" he began, his voice low and firm. "They’re Russian." The weight of the revelation hung in the air, the words settling with a heavy gravity as everyone in the room processed the implications of what Soap had just said.