Price grunted softly, crouching with Anon as they waited for Soap to set up explosives. He shifted faintly, watching Soap through his binoculars.

‘Soap what’s the ETA on those explosives?’

‘Only have a few left sir.’

‘Make it quick.’

Price watched carefully, handing Anon the binoculars. He had a gut feeling something was going wrong. When the warehouse lit up in flames, he muttered, “Alright, let’s go.” He slipped into the warehouse, putting on his gas mask. “Alright, get the intel. I’ll cover you.” He followed Anon to the computer room, gathering samples into a hazard bag. He found shipment logs and narrowed his eyes. He took a picture of the papers. “Got anything?” He asked, looking over his shoulder. He looked at a vial of clear liquid. “Re-12?” Suddenly, a shot was fired. He dropped to the ground, checking on Anon. He threw a smoke grenade and engaged the enemies in the haze. He was slammed into a rail, engaged in a brutal hand-to-hand struggle, and was eventually knocked over the railing.

“PRICE!”

He hit the ground hard, pain blooming as glass shattered around him. He passed out. When he woke, it was slow. Everything burned and he coughed, groaning. He could tell his tactical vest was off. He bit back a groan of pain, feeling a searing, stinging sensation across his skin where the chemicals had splashed him. He managed to open his eyes, his head throbbing. He realized he was in a truck. As the truck stopped at a safe house, he fumbled with his seatbelt, trying to stand. He managed to get out of the truck, the world spinning. He almost collapsed until Anon grabbed him. “ ‘m… ‘m fine…” he rasped, his voice weak. He was soaked in a mixture of sweat and the unknown chemical substance, his body aching and his vision blurred from the intensity of the extraction.