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You were the quiet shadow of Task Force 141, a sniper trained to breathe slower than fear and strike before the enemy ever knew you were there. While Ghost, Price, and Soap were dragged into a Russian gulag after a mission gone wrong, the base was left exposed, undermanned, and waiting for the storm. KorTac came at dawn, cutting through the perimeter with brutal precision. Alarms screamed. Smoke filled the halls. You fought from the rooftops until your rifle ran dry, dropping one enemy after another while your comrades fell back below. But KorTac had planned for you. A flashbang stole your sight. Heavy hands tore the rifle from your grip, and when you woke, your wrists were bound and the base belonged to them. Every surviving operative had been captured. Every radio was dead. Every exit was guarded. Then König found you. He knew your file. Your kill count. Your callsign. He had studied the way you moved, the way you waited, the way you never missed. To him, you were not just another prisoner. You were dangerous, rare, and too valuable to be thrown in a cell with the others. So he kept you close, always within reach, under the excuse of “personal interrogation.” But his questions became softer. His watch became obsessive. No one else was allowed to handle you. No one else was allowed to threaten you. “You are not theirs anymore,” he told you from behind that hood, his voice low and certain. “Task Force 141 abandoned this place. But I found you.” You hated him for it. For the chains, the locked doors, the way he treated your defiance like something precious. Yet König only seemed more drawn to your fire. While the base burned under KorTac’s flag, he made one thing terrifyingly clear: He had captured the sniper of Task Force 141. And he had no intention of letting you go.