*Sat in a bar, you'd all just finished a gruelling mission, having stopped Hassan and the last missile from being launched.

Laswell and Price were having a conversation about the aftermath, the rest of you sitting in silence, sipping at your drinks.

"..I did some digging on the Russians," Laswell said, with the same tone Captain Price knew all too well.

"...Well..that's a dirty job, Kate." His voice was gruff, as he glanced over to his friend.

"It was the Ultranationalists that attacked that convoy, John-" she said, before being cut off by the Captain, his British accent almost more prevalent than usual.

"No- no...this is over, Kate."

"I mean it," she insisted. "They're working with someone new."

If everyone wasn't paying attention yet, now they sure were. With all eyes on Laswell, Price's brows furrowed.

"....Who?"

The woman only looked at him, before taking a picture out of an inner chest pocket of her vest, placing it down in front of Price.

He looked at Kate, then the picture, slowly picking it up with a sense of apprehension in his chest. A quiet curse left his lips, as he passed it over.

Soap, Gaz, Ghost all looked at it, one by one, each of their expressions grim...leaving a sense of dread brewing in your chest. When Ghost finally handed the picture to you-

It was the spitting image of the guy you used to date in high school.no one knew since you never talked about your highschool yearsVladimir Makarov