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⚠️ WARNING⚠️
This chapter may (or may not) make you cringe.
If you feel pain or any triggers, feel free to skip this chapter!
Read at your discretion.
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Rich felt his head pounded like a war drum as his temples throbbing in ways he couldn't stop it.

Slowly, he blinked himself awake.

His body felt sluggish, weighed down by something heavy—until he realized his wrists were tied, letting in a sharp inhale before exhaling.

His pulse jumped as his eyes darted around, taking in a room he doesn't recognize. Still, seated and tied on the center under the light. This time, only a small table was set beside him.

His stomach dropped.

Lennox and La Reina.

He recognized the couple from the Red Room.

Except now? They weren't dressed in glamorous attire. No expensive suits, no lace masks, no teasing glances.

Soap stood with his arms crossed, his once-charming smirk now grim, unreadable. He was in his casual attire of his dark navy shirt with washed out jeans and heavy and dirty boots.

Gabby? She leaned against the far wall, twirling a switchblade between her fingers, her expression bored. She was in her tank top with a jeans and worn-out sneakers. Her hair was braided and neat.

Gaz stood beside with Soap with his arms crossed, still in his three-piece suit but without a tie and his collars are unadjusted to show his collarbone.

Ghost was an inch closer to Gabby. Zero emotion.

And then, Rich moved his eyes before his breath held when he recognized a man standing still with his hands clasped together on the front, as if he was ready to speak with a stern gaze.

"Johnathan fucking Price," Rich said distastefully. "I should've known." He adjusted himself in the chair, forcing a fake sense of calm as he lifted his chin. The way he said it—like an old friend, like he knew him—made Soap's brow furrow and Gaz did the same. Gabby tilted her head, intrigued.

"Start talking," John started.

Rich arched an eyebrow. "Talk about what?"

"We both know Zakharov must've mentioned me," John said calmly, too calm. "Now, tell us what you know."

Rich chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "And if I don't?"

Click.

He flinched as sound cut through the tense air. His eyes dropped, and his blood ran cold as he saw John casually set down a M1911, the classic A .45 ACP Rich recognized, was set on the table beside him.

John placed a hand on the table, right beside the gun, fingers tapping lightly against the weapon.

"Then I get bored," John said simply. "And that's bad for you."

Rich clenched his jaw. His mind scrambled for a way out—any way out—but John was already three steps ahead.

The Captain leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing.

"You think you're a hard man, don't you?" He said, dangerously husky. "Rich businessman. Fancy suits. Lotta good shit on your disposal. But I know you."

Rich stiffened.

"My handler was kind enough to dig through your dirty secrets. And you know what I found?" John said, voice dangerously low.

A pause.

A smirk curved on his lips.

"You like 'em young, don't you?"

Soap and Gaz exchanged looks. Gabby lifted an eyebrow while Ghost stared at him hard.

"Human trafficking. Pimp King. You run business to ruin every innocence for money. Sex sells, right? The kind of thing that—if made public—destroys everything you've built legible businesses you've owned, including your image."

Rich stared at him, his nostrils flared as if he wanted to scream or fight back.

"So," he said, tapping the gun again. "You either start talking, or I take everything from you."

The room grew colder.

Rich's fingers twitched against his restraints. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment—it looked like he might actually refuse.

But then—

His breath wavered.

The realization set in.

John wasn't bluffing.

Rich gritted his teeth before exhaling sharply, his posture sinking just a little.

"...What do you want to know?"

"Everything," John said in his cold tone after his smirk faded. "Start from the top."

Rich exhaled. He blinked once, glancing around the room, as if sizing them up before deciding to speak. With an irritated sigh, he leaned back in the chair, his shoulders rolling as much as they could within the restraints.

"You know... you have a knack for pissing off powerful people, Captain Price."

John didn't respond. He didn't even blink.

Rich continued. "You know, one of your soldiers have killed men like Hassan Zyani and Damien Tatriek, you don't remove a problem. You create a bigger one."

"What the fuck do you mean by 'bigger one'?" Soap asked, almost growling as he was in his soldier mode.

Rich hummed and almost smiled.

"Ah... so you folks remember Hassan—the one you put down at Chicago?"

John stared at him, remaining unreadable.

"Hassan was a piece in a very large puzzle. And Damien? Well. Let's say you made my job harder when you killed my business partner."

Gabby spoke up, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Cry me a river."

Rich ignored her.

"You see..." He licked his lips and continued. "Damien and Hassan filled two very important roles. Biochemical and nuclear weapons. And without them?" His lips curled into something almost playful and annoyance. "It leaves a gap. A gap that someone like me had to fill. And I'm getting sick of it."

John narrowed his eyes. "Who's demanding it?"

Rich exhaled through his nose, as if unamused by the question. "Come on, Captain. You're smarter than that."

John hummed. Although his patience was about to become thin by seconds. His fingers tapped the table near his weapon.

Rich sighed.

Then—

"Vladimir Makarov."

Silence.

Soap stiffened.

Gaz locked his jaw.

Ghost hadn't moved when Gabby's switchblade stopped flipping mid-air. Her fingers gripping the handle a little tighter.

John hummed again.

Makarov.

That name alone was enough to shift his mindset into the past.

For a moment, John was no longer in the interrogation room.

His mind transported him back to the Channel tunnel in London, where the Konni Group, orchestrated by Makarov, was planning to strike terrorism in their home. He recalled when Soap took a bullet for him, nearly losing his life.

John had wished he had taken the hit instead. It had penetrated Soap's chest, nearly reaching his lung, and John had almost witnessed him die right before his eyes.

Take this to hell with you, Captain. Never bury your enemies alive.

Makarov's words echoed in his mind as he prepared to fire again. But John leapt at him, grabbing his gun and headbutting him. They fought until Makarov was shot in the shoulder, thanks to Gaz's expert marksmanship. John was ready to finish him off, but more members of the Konni Group appeared, giving Makarov the chance to flee. This left John with no choice but to concentrate on defusing the bomb with Gaz instead of chasing after Makarov.

Meanwhile, Ghost and The Ghosts arrived just in time to neutralize as many Konni Group members as possible, including someone with a callsign called, The Phantom. While Gabby rushed to Soap to staunch the bleeding, they knew Makarov was a mastermind behind chaos. Manipulating events like a puppeteer holding a knife. And now, his name had resurfaced.

John didn't realize his teeth had clenched until he felt the sharp pressure radiating through his jaw.

Gabby was the first to break the silence.

"Let me guess," she drawled, thought there was a hint of grudge in her tone. "Makarov's getting impatient."

Rich exhaled sharply, his irritation becoming more apparent. "That's putting it lightly."

Soap finally spoke. "Good. Maybe the bastard will drop dead from stress."

Rich chuckled darkly. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? I hate to disappoint, but Makarov isn't the type to simply die off. He's hungry for more. And thanks to you?" His expression twisted into something sharp. "You've been disrupting the chain."

John didn't flinch.

Rich continued, his voice like venom. "The whole operation is in shambles now. Do you understand what kind of mess you've made?" He let out a humorless laugh. "You've pissed off three people. Makarov, Zakharov, and me."

"Zakharov," he said flatly, ignoring his frustration. "What's his role in this?"

Rich smirked, but it lacked humor.

"Zakharov is—" He paused. "—the kind of man who always deliver results." His fingers twitched slightly against his restraints. "And right now? Makarov's breathing down both of our necks. You think I like being stuck playing middleman? Do you have any idea how many contacts I've lost because of your fucking team?!"

"Aw, need a tissue?" Soap grinned and added.

"You don't understand," he hissed, his nostrils flared. "Damien was brilliant. A genius in this biochem profession and since Russia disowned General Barkov. Damien knew he had to leave Russia before they catch him, if his crime was on the light. He had a mind of his own, and power is his motivation. And now? It's all incomplete.

"Remember Hadir? The man you once turned him over to keep peace over proxy war? Well, I don't have to remind you since you've also killed my business partner, Victor Zakhaev, by throwing him over the edge where the nuclear weapon was about to be released. To release chaos and create more war, starting with Urzikstan and many other region."

"Are you saying that Victor was the one who released Hardir?" Gaz asked, frowning.

"Ah, so you do listen," Rich said. "Yes."

"Your point," John said it straight.

"Since Hadir was turned over to the Russians by you and the CIA. And before his sister have killed Barkov, you pathetic soldiers destroyed his lab in Georgia," Rich paused and looked at John and the rest before continuing. "Damien had to escape and make himself unknown for about two years, which don't ask me how he escaped, but the bastard is always ahead. It wouldn't surprise me that Hadir would want to warn you and that commander Karim about us until Zakharov had to get someone to shut him up."

Gaz stared at Rich. "By who?"

"I don't know," Rich shrugged, already annoyed. "He was called The Phantom."

There was silence in the room, John stared hard at Rich as his memory redraw of the memory that he had encountered the man with a mask while Gabby and The Ghosts have arrived to fight back after Makarov escaped. He didn't had the time to think it through about this mysterious soldier, who fought like he knew how to fight back with bullets. But, John couldn't get much glimpse of the man.

That name would have to stay at the back of his brain for later.

For now, John needed to focus.

"Bloody hell, it's all coming together," Gaz said, more to himself than to the rest.

"To keep Makarov's presence unknown, you and that pesky Scot were responsible for bringing him into custody in Verdansk and sending him to the Gulag. Remember that, Price? This was all thanks to his financier, Mileena. She got him out on time before Covid have become a world-wide issue.

"His plan was to make Russia a powerhouse again, restore a Soviet Union. To regain a reputation of the militia power. Russia wants to be against NATO, and so do Hershel. He wants a war, starting in the east and the west."

"Shepherd?" Ghost asked.

"Yes, he was a part of the hush-hush plan too. Only then, he wanted more medals. Be a decorative leader. You all are naive, thinking you're playing heroes and making yourself important."

John tightened his jaw as he listened. This web of deceit ran deeper than he could have imagined. Before he could respond, Soap stepped forward and stopped, eyes blazing.

"You know what I think is naive? Trusting scum like Makarov and Zakharov. They'll put a knife in yo' back the second yer no longer useful."

"So why don't you do yourself a favor," Gaz added. "And tell us where he is."

Rich huffed a sigh, glaring at them before moving his focus on Gabby. "Did I mention that your brother, Hudson Knocks, was killed by Makarov? Damien was ordered to do that to send you a message."

Gabby froze. Her breathing became stilled and Ghost immediately noticed.

"It was a punishment but also message to you, La Reina, to quit screwing his operation."

Her switchblade clattered to the floor as she took a step forward, eyes blazing, posture tense like a coiled snake about to strike.

"Hijo de puta chupapollas! (You cocksucking son of a bitch!)" she snarled, every word cutting through the room like a blade. She lunged without hesitation, blind rage taking hold.

Ghost was faster.

He grabbed her by the waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest before she could get within arm's reach of Rich. Her shoes scraped against the floor, but Ghost didn't let go, locking his arms around her even as she kicked and struggled against him.

"LET ME GO!" Gabby screamed, venom dripping from her voice. "LET GO, SIMON! I'LL SKIN HIM! I SWEAR I'll SKIN HIM ALIVE!"

Ghost gritted his teeth, tightening his grip as he was strong, yet feeling every tremor in her body.

"No," he said firmly. "He's not worth it!"

Gabby thrashed, her nails digging into Ghost's arms as she growled, "THEY KILLED MY BROTHER!"

Soap stared at the scene, eyes widened.

Gaz stiffened too, barely keeping his own breathing steady as the air in the room turned suffocating.

John didn't flinch. His gaze remained locked on Rich, but there was something darker behind his eyes now. Rich, smug, leaned back slightly in the chair as if pleased to watch them fracture.

Ghost barely kept Gabby restrained, her sobs turning guttural. "Makarov used Damian to send a message! To me?! And you want me to just stand here?"

"I know," Ghost said in his low but desperate, trying to keep his own emotions in check.

"Enough."

The word echoed.

Her breathing slowed, but she didn't stop struggling.

"Ghost," John said without looking, "get her out of here."

Ghost nodded without waiting. He gently pulled Gabby toward the door, even as she shouted every obscenity she could think of at Rich, her voice raw.

"You're dead! Do you hear me, tu perra?! (you bitch?!) I'll put you six feet under myself!"

Ghost pushed the door open with his back, dragging her with him as gently as he could manage, disappearing from room.

Soap's chest heaved, still furious. His hand flexed, itching to grab Rich and follow through with what Gabby couldn't.

John turned fully toward Rich now and he moved, stepping forward before leaning in to him as his face was close to his.

"You like to stir the pot, huh?"

"Depends," Rich answered cheekily.

John smirked darkly, voice lowering, "No wonder you're so bitchy about all this."

He blinked, thrown for a fraction of a second.

John saw it.

The little twitch.

The pride Rich usually held so high cracked, just a hairline fracture, but John knew where to press.

"If you're the kind of little bitch that always needing someone to notice you," John continued, circling the chair like a wolf stalking its prey. "You don't run this game—you beg for scraps at the table. I'm not sure how else to say this but it's all coming together."

Soap's brows twitched in surprise, but he kept silent, recognizing the shift. Gaz kept his arms crossed, watching carefully.

Rich clenched his jaw. "Careful, Captain—"

"Oh, I'm bein' careful." John cut him off sharply, stepping around to lean on Rich. "See, you don't scare me. Never did. And now? You've pissed off the wrong people, like Knocks. I could've let her kill you in front of me. But, I want to play with you myself. You think I don't know your type? Hiding behind your paychecks and playthings. Always pretending you're the one pulling the strings."

Then, his voice dropped further.

"But deep down, you're just another bitch waiting for Makarov's approval."

Rich inhaled and exhaled, almost in moan but nervous.

"You were the lapdog, Richard," John whispered with venom.

His knuckles turned white against the ropes as his breathing quickened.

"Hard? Are ya? Hate to say that I ain't ya type," John tapped the gun again near him. "Now, be a good little dog. Speak."

Soap and Gaz glanced at each other, their brows almost risen with a nonverbal cues of, 'damn.'

Rich scoffed, almost annoyed. Yet, the way John was bringing in this room was now forcing him to corporate.

"Makarov doesn't like incomplete work. And if you think I'm frustrated?" He paused, exhaling again and continued. "You should see how pissed off he'll be if he finds out I'm dead."

"Oh, I could kill you after this talk. Right now, I'm a judge and an executioner right here. So give us exactly what we need. You'll be in our custody, if you don't piss me off."

Rich tilted his head, as if weighing his next words carefully. Then—

"Right, yeah," he paused before continuing."Your ex-friend and your former boss, Zakharov talks, and I listen." He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering into something almost... admiring. "You're not just a soldier, are you?"

John stared at him hard.

Making Gaz and Soap turned their gaze back to John from behind.

Rich let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "No... you're more than that. You play well on both sides. A felon and a warrior."

Silence.

Soap shifted, his brows furrowed. "Captain?"

Gaz moved his eyes to John behind. His lips parted as if to speak, but he didn't.

John remained impassive, yet a tension twisted tightly within him.

"Zakharov told me a lot about you and your brothers," Rich continued, his voice dripping with amusement. "Knew what you were before you found your nice, polished uniform. And yet, even now, you act like you're above it all. See, that's the thing about men like you, Price. You bury your past, pretend it doesn't exist—but people like Zakharov? He never forgets."

His fingers twitched.

"Because, unlike you, Captain Price," Rich paused before he smiled wickedly. "He has unfinished business with you."

John still didn't react, but his muscles had coiled tight beneath his skin.

Then—

"What about the drive?" Gaz spoke as he crossed arms.

Rich scoffed. "I'm not telling you anything what's on the drive."

"Sir—"

"Speaking of Zakharov..." Rich interrupted Gaz, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. "He's quite aware you have a daughter."

The room dropped into silence.

Soap froze before his expression hardened. Gaz stood his ground before his brows knitted.

But John—

His heart began to pump more blood within his veins as suddenly, his ears are picking up his heartbeats.

"Cameron, isn't it?" He said, seeing the small shift at John. "Lovely name for your only child."

John clenched his teeth within his lips.

"Zakharov was the one who nearly killed her and her squadron, you know. That missile strike?" Rich leaned back and clicked his tongue, his tone almost casual. "A test run. He wanted to see if it would work."

His hands tightened into fists. John hadn't moved from his spot, but the temperature in the room dropped.

All he could picture was his daughter.

The flash from last year—at the Germany Hospital. The nights he sat awake next to her while doctors weren't sure if she'd survive. The way her hand felt small and cold in his large hand, while he swore to himself he'd never let anything touch her again.

And now this piece of shit was confirming it was intentional.

"You sonvabitch!" Soap surged forward. The scrape of his boots on the floor echoed as he marched forward to Rich until Gaz had to wrestle him back.

"Johnny! No—"

"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF ME KYLE!" Soap snarled, muscles flexing as he fought to rip free.

"STAND DOWN SERGEANT!" John whipped his head and commanded him like a knife cut through it's skin.

His chest heaved, but slowly, Soap relented under the Captain order. Gaz didn't let go until he felt the tension drop. John didn't look away when Soap paced furiously toward the far corner, muttering curses under his breath.

"Get your fucking head straight," he ordered, firm but harsh. "You lose your shit, you give your enemy exactly what he wants."

Soap clenched his fists and looked at him back. His face, fury red along with his ocean eyes. He said nothing—just stood there, visibly restrained.

Then, John turned to Rich.

"You think that was clever?" John said icily.

Rich grinned. "I struck a nerve again, didn't I?"

John moved fast that no one had time to react. Picking up his sidearm, the barrel pressed against Rich's knee.

And then—

Bang.

The shot rang through the room and Rich screamed. His body seized as the pain hit him like a truck, his head snapping back as his bound wrists jerked.

"YOU MOTHER FUC-"

The others flinched at the sudden crack of the shot, but John watched without a remorse. Listening to his cries filled the space, his chest heaving as Rich trembled against the chair. His face twisted into agony, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Gaz held his breath as he couldn't believe what he was witnessing.

John had never lost his cool, back in St. Petersburg in Russia. But, to the interrogation he remembered of choosing not to escort the Butcher's wife and a son, which was five years ago. Gaz sometimes have questioned John's morality and the fine line between right and wrong.

The last time he remembered was when Gaz chose not to engage the interrogation, using the Butcher's wife and the son, as a hostage leverage since this was the line he wouldn't cross. But to John, it was necessary.

Gaz had found the dead bodies after John got the intel before the Russian forces arrived on the scene.

There is a fine line between right and wrong.

Butcher was last existed after he and Gaz had watched him pulled a trigger on an innocent bystander father with a child. It was known as a pay back for what Butcher have done back at Urzikstan in the U.S Embassy raid attack by the Al-Qatala forces after the capture of "The Wolf".

Mercy is weak.

That line haunted Gaz.

And so did John.

Now standing right here today. Gaz watched as John leaned down and gripped Rich's jaw.

"Keep talking," he growled, his fingers digging into Rich's face. "Or I'm gonna take the other leg."

Rich gritted his teeth. "F-Fuck you..."

"I can strip you of everything you built," John continued, his tone deadly. "Your reputation? Gone. Your money? Gone."

His body shuddered in pain.

"And Zakharov?" John continued, his voice dropping lower. "Makarov?" He let go of his face and stood tall. "They'll turn on you before you can beg."

Rich panted. His leg throbbed, his face twisted in agony while glaring up at him.

"It doesn't... matter," he wheezed. "They'll get you. They'll get all of you."

Then, Rich let out a choking laugh.

"Starting with your daughter."

John's breathing became heavy as he stared at him.

"She'll be gone before you even know," Rich rasped, his grin turning wicked. "And Makarov? Oh, he'll make sure one of his men has their fun with her first."

Soap growled, even his anger became known as his primal side of him began to crawl out of his skin slowly.

But to John, his vision darkened. His pulse slowed. His muscles coiled.

Rich laughed, the sound weak but cruel. "And after Cam?" His voice dropped. "Maybe your sweet girl, too. Charlotte, isn't it? That yellow American bitch?"

Then, suddenly, the room felt smaller.

He exhaled hard through his nose before he lifted the gun, pointing at his forehead. Rich barely had time to react before he pulled the trigger, and the shot cracked through the air.

His head snapped back. The chair rocked back from the force as it fell behind. His blood splattered faintly on the ground.

Silence deafened.

His chest rose and fell steadily, but John stared down at the lifeless. Lowering his sidearm, his expression was stone cold. Controlled. Deadly.

"Price, what the fuck did you do?!" Gaz called out harshly as he stepped forward. "He's our custody!"

Soap stared, his mouth almost opened.

"John! Do you hear me?" Gaz frowned, touching John's shoulder, watching as John looked back at him with an inscrutable, icy stare.

"I don't lose what's mine."

Gaz stared at him. Stunned.

And with that, John shrugged his hand off his shoulder and turned toward the door without looking back.