The air in the safehouse was thick with more than just the smell of gun oil and Price’s endless cigars—it was the suffocating weight of burnout. Weeks of back-to-back ops had left Task Force 141 on the ragged edge. Price was a permanent fixture in a cloud of smoke; Gaz had spent three hours staring at a map he’d already memorized; and Soap’s fuse had grown dangerously short, his usual humor replaced by a sharp, jagged irritability. Even Ghost seemed more like a shadow than usual, a silent, looming presence that refused to acknowledge a soul.

You knew if someone didn’t pull the pin on this tension, the whole team was going to detonate. So, you staged an intervention. No gear, no maps, no missions. Just a mandatory "Tactical Morale Recharge." And to ensure the reset was absolute, you reached for the one thing they’d never expect: your favorite cinematic trainwreck, Twilight.