The truck's tires crunched over the loose dust and gravel as they drove through the tall sagebrush. Ahead of them was an old stable, seemingly abandoned long ago. Ghost threw the truck in park and stepped out, Soap following shortly after him. "Where are we?"

"Alejandro's safehouse," replied the Lieutenant. "Gave me the location just in case."

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"It was need to know."

Soap's mouth snarled up. "What if I needed to know??"

Ghost hushed him, and held his hand out to keep him back. He kicked at a piece of carboard, flipping it away and he caught his breath. "Look at that..."

The Sergeant looked it over and tightened his lips. "Pressure plate."

"Alejandro must've rigged it."

"Smart bastard..."

Ghost stepped around it and looked in through an open window, gesturing with his head for Soap to go through first. As Soap vaulted the sill, his eyes adjusted to the dark and he barely saw the glint of a red dot sight. 

Ghost must have seen it too, because his body went rigid with alarm and he whispered sharply. "Don't move..." He quickly drew a knife and threw it at the shifting figure in the dark, to his dismay, burying the blade in a wooden beam. Beside him, Soap drew up his own rifle and aimed at the shadowy figure. 

"¿Quien esta ahi?- Who's there?" came a commanding, rigid voice.

Soap dropped his rifle, feeling a flood of relief. "Rodolfo!"

Rudy pressed closer into the beaming moonlight and his eyes rounded. "Soap, Ghost, you're alive!"

"In one piece anyway," said Ghost lowly.

"It's good to see you."

Soap pulled Rodolfo into a hug and slapped his shoulder with three heavy thuds. "Igual, amigo.- Same, friend."

Rodolfo turned back and pulled Ghost's knife from the beam, handing it back to him. "Nice throw. Where have you been?"

"On the run."

"I was on the run," said Soap. "Ghost waited for me."

"Of course, no?" asked Rudy, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two men.

Soap felt a weight in his chest and his gaze fell to his feet. Ghost had barely turned back for the pilot in Al Mazrah, and was famed for carrying on, with or without his team. Had he wanted to, the Lieutenant would, and probably should have left him behind. "No..."

He pried against the dry wood with his hands, wincing with the effort as his palms began to bleed. Trickles of sand fell through the cracks onto his face, and Simon fought to breathe steadily as the grains aggravated the maggots around him to churn and crawl. Beside him, his commander's body squelched and the rotting flesh slid sickeningly against his skin; the teeth from the dead man's jawbone were wearing down to the root and he was quickly losing faith he would break his way out of the coffin. 

CRACK! CR...RACK!

The sand poured in faster now and he sucked in a deep breath, pressing his feet into the wood and pushing it away. It was heavy, but soon, it gave way and he clawed his way to the surface. With a dry cough, he spat a mouthful of sand and plant matter to the ground and he crawled into the sunlight, dropping the jawbone by his side. His lungs swelled gratefully and he closed his eyes, feeling the pull of exhaustion on his body as he breathed in the fresh desert air.

Oh...

Wait...

Sparks and Washington were supposed to be waiting for him. They ran to the border before he could get out. Simon's eyes opened begrudgingly and he wearily rose to his feet, wincing as he felt a pain in his ribs. He pressed his hand against the scabbed over wound where his captors had shoved a hook through his skin, and took another step. It still hurt, but at least he could manage it long enough to get out of the desert. 

Hours passed, and he finally saw the US border patrol, but his parched throat couldn't call out to them. He threw his arms into the air, staggering closer and closer, hoping the patrol would take him in.

At first, the men took aim at him, looking at the dusty man spattered in blackened blood with expressions of horror. When he came close enough, they could hear him rasping, whispering desperately. "Help, me... Please, help..."

The first man dropped his weapon and rushed to Simon's side. "Leon, you got your flask on you? God damn, this guy looks nearly dead!"

The second patrolman, Leon, a tall man with chestnut-colored skin and dark features, tossed his flask and Simon intercepted it, gulping as fast as he could, doing his best not to let a drop go to waste. He sighed thankfully and wiped at his lips with his wrist. "Thank you... Thank you..."

"Jesus, man," said Leon. "Where'd you come from?"

"SAS... Captured on mission... Held hostage..."

"Sounds like those other guys... What were their names again, Frank?"

The first patrolman scratched at his short, dark brown beard. "God, uhh... Wa-Walt- no, Wash.. Washburn?"

"Nah, man, I thought his name was Washington."

"Washington..." came a low rasp from the nearly-dead Englishman. "And Sparks..."

"Yeah! That was their names!" said Frank. "You're that British guy they were lookin' for, aren't you? What did they say his name was?"

"Simon Riley. He's standing in front of you, I'm pretty sure he could've told you is name..."

Simon's eyes lifted. "They're here..?"

Leon shook his head. "They waited here at the border for four days. Took off almost two weeks ago, now. Thought you must be dead."

"You're a tough bastard, aren't you?"

There was a dragging in his chest. They had given up on him. Left him. Didn't even turn back to help. Though he knew deep down, he likely would have lost hope, too, and moved on, it didn't subdue the sting under his skin.

"Yes," he said abruptly, drawing a look of shock from Soap. "We're a team. All of us. This happened on my watch and I'll need help to fix it. No one fights alone... No one should fight alone."

Rodolfo nodded with a grin which quickly evaporated as he changed the subject. "Alejandro had a feeling Graves would turn."

"Why?" asked Soap.

"He made a deal with Valeria, and she's good at swaying people to her desires. She must've said something to corrupt him."

Ghost sneered. "Graves doesn't strike me as a follower. There must be something else."

Soap cocked a brow, his face falling solemnly. "You think she knew about what he did to Hassan?"

"No telling," replied Rodolfo. "She has rats everywhere, if anyone saw something, she knows about it." His brown eyes fell along with his voice. "Whole families have disappeared because someone knew their sins."

"Sick..."

Ghost sighed through his nose. "Until further notice, General Shepherd, Laswell, and anyone outside this room is considered hostile. With one exception..."

"Alejandro?" Soap guessed.

"We need him back. 

Rodolfo was quiet for a moment, then motioned them to follow him to a desk inside a stall. "Graves is holding him here," he said, pointing to a grey square at the corner of a map. "This old prison is in a remote area outside Las Almas. It was maximum security until the narcos  took over, and it was permanently closed."

"Perfect place for a black site prison," Soap mused.

"My team is locked in there, too."

Ghost's voice dropped to a growl. "Then let's break in and get them out."

The corner of Soap's mouth turned up in a grin. "And that's why I love Ghost." He punched the Lieutenant's shoulder amicably. "Ya fuckin' badass..."

"But we're going to need more than... This." He released his last magazine in his rifle and grimaced, seeing that it was nearly empty.

Rodolfo smiled. "Come." He went to a back room and opened the door to an armory filled to the brim with any and every kind of weapon they could dream of, from pistols to RPGs and everything in between. "Take your pick."

"This is a good start," said Soap. "We're gonna need new wheels, preferably somethin' up-armoured."

He flicked on the overhead lights, and near the back door was parked a black, armored vehicle, barely a scrap of dust on it. Rudy tossed Ghost the keys and they all felt giddy with excitement when, with the push of a button, the engine roared awake.

"Damn, Alejandro really thought of everythin'!" Soap's smile turned sinister, and even Ghost felt the electric shock of intimidation brush against his nerves. "Now let's go get 'im back..."