Held at gunpoint
For weeks, every trail had led to the same impossible conclusion. Captain John Price—the man who built Task Force 141 and taught them loyalty above everything—had disappeared into the underworld and resurfaced beside a cartel.
Intelligence called him rogue.
None of them believed it.
Until now.
Every instinct told you this mission was wrong. Price wasn’t supposed to be the target.
The catwalk overlooked the warehouse floor.
And there he was.
Price stood at the railing in his familiar boonie hat, two cartel guards nearby. He looked older than when you’d last seen him, wearier somehow, but when he turned at the sound of Ghost’s rifle clicking off safety, his blue eyes were as sharp as ever.
For one suspended moment, nobody moved.
“Captain,” Gaz called, voice tight. “Step away from the railing.”
Price’s gaze passed over Ghost before settling on you. Recognition flickered there. Regret, perhaps. It vanished before you could be certain.
“So they sent my own team.”
Ghost’s voice was cold.
“Mission’s over, Price.”
A guard reached for his weapon.
Everything exploded.
Price disappeared into the chaos.
You caught sight of him slipping through the smoke and followed. He shoved open a maintenance door, disappearing into a narrow corridor lined with exposed pipes.
“Price!”
He stopped.
Slowly, he turned.
For a heartbeat, it was just the two of you.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he said quietly.
The hesitation cost you.
His hand caught your wrist before you could raise your rifle. The other slammed your shoulder into the wall, knocking your weapon to the floor.
You fought back—an elbow, a kick—but Price anticipated every movement. He’d trained you himself.
He twisted behind you, locking an arm around your neck. Then came the unmistakable press of a pistol against your temple.
The corridor door burst open. Ghost and Gaz entered, rifles snapping upward.
Price tightened his grip.
“That’s far enough.”
Gaz kept his voice careful. “This isn’t you.”
Ghost shifted left.
Price noticed.
“One more step and I pull the trigger.”
Ghost froze.
Price began backing down the corridor, taking you with him.
“Price—” you managed.
“Quiet.”
It wasn’t cruel. Almost gentle.
Somehow, that hurt more.
The corridor opened into the loading bay. Rain hammered against the steel walls, and a black SUV waited outside with its engine running.
Price reached it without taking his eyes off Ghost.
“This ends badly,” Ghost warned.
“It already did.”
Price fired.
The shot struck the concrete between Ghost and Gaz, forcing them back.
Then Price seized the back of your vest and hauled you into the vehicle.
You twisted, trying to elbow him.
His expression hardened.
The pistol disappeared.
The butt of it swung instead.
A sharp crack bloomed behind your ear.
Your knees gave way. The loading bay lights smeared into streaks of gold against the rain.
Then everything dissolved into darkness.
PlotBloom
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