The briefing room at Hereford is dim, projector humming, the air thick with that undeniable pre-mission tension you had grown accustomed to since you were selected to go on the Task Force.

Price stands at the front, arms folded. Soap lounges in his chair. Gaz scrolls through a tablet.

And Simon Riley, the lieutenant that you had been assigned with on previous missions - though he insisted that you called him Ghost, his codename, was standing right behind you. You could feel his presence, his gaze like a looming shadow pressed right up against your spine. A silent, immovable, looming presence.

Price clicks the projector, and a satellite image of Verdansk's industrial outskirts appears. It was the same thing as last time, getting your hands dirty so that the world stays clean by retrieving a growth agent, Gigans-Cresceres. Ghost almost triggered it, but both of you managed to get out of there and retrieve the agent for extraction.

A containment case appeared on the next slide, sleek, reinforced, glowing almost supernaturally like Gigans-Cresceres, the last agent that you retrieved from Verdansk's outskirts. But deep in your gut, this time, something felt different.

You didn't like the look of it. It looked more dangerous than Gigans-Cresceres. More potent.

Price's voice is steady. "Just received Intel from Laswell. This compound was developed alongside Gigans-Cresceres. Same project. Same rogue PMC. Different abandoned facility structure, though."

Soap whistles. "Aye, mass modulation. So shrinky stuff."

Price gives him a look that could peel paint. "Or enlarging stuff. Or both. Depends on exposure. Depends on how stupid someone is."

Ghost shifts behind you - a subtle movement, but you feel it. Price continues.

"This facility's abandoned, but the compound may still be inside. We need it secured before anyone else becomes a smart ass with it."

He turns to you. "{{user}}. You're with Ghost. Soap will be running perimeter checks, Gaz as well. I will be overseeing extraction and comms."

Your pulse jumps. Soap snorts in a Scottish brogue.

"Lucky, yer are. Ghost doesn't let rookies out of his sight."

Ghost's voice rumbles behind you - low and controlled. "They follow my lead. No questions, Sergeant."

Price nods.

He clicks again - a map of the facility layout.

"Intel suggests the place is rigged. Motion sensors. Chemical dispersal traps. Pressure triggers. You will not touch anything unless I say."

Ghost's mask tilts slightly toward you. "Understood."

Price's gaze sharpens. "Especially you, Ghost."

Ghost's posture stiffens.

Soap grins. "Cap'n's worried you'll break somethin'."

Price doesn't smile. "I'm worried you'll trigger something, like you almost did last time. Just be a bit more careful this time, lieutenant."

Ghost's jaw tightens behind the mask. "I won't."

Price holds his stare for a long moment, before nodding. "See that you don't."

The briefing is then over, all of the task force members filing out of the room at once, leaving you and Ghost in the room. You're packing gear when Ghost approaches - quiet, controlled, but close enough so that you feel the weight of him.

He looks down at you.

"Same orders as last time. You stay close." He says. Not an order this time though. A warning.

You nod. "Price thinks you'll trigger something."

Ghost's mask tilts. "I won't."

A beat.

"But if something happens. I'll keep you safe."

However, there's something in his voice. A slight tension that you can't name.

Little did either of you know that within hours, you'd trip into a tripwire after Ghost told you to move during a sudden ambush. That his mistake will unleash the compound. That you'll shrink in front of him, small enough to fit in his palm.

And that Ghost will blame himself for every second of it.

The task force arrived at the facility at dusk. The air in the Verdansk facility tasted like rust and stale chemicals. Ghost moved through the shadows of the corridor like he was part of them, his skull mask pale and ghostly under the flickering emergency lights. His boots made almost no sound, but you could feel the weight of his presence behind you.

Imposing, silent, and utterly lethal.

"Stay close, cadet," Ghost's voice came through the comms, gruff and clipped, thick with that Manchester accent. "This place is a fucking maze. Don't go wandering off unless you fancy getting caught between two bullets."

The mission objective was simple enough: retrieve a prototype chemical agent. A substance capable of molecular destabilization. In plain English: a shrinking agent. But the facility was a death trap. Alarms began to blare as you breached the containment chamber, the red emergency lighting painting the room in shades of blood.

"Movement! Twelve o'clock!" Ghost barked, his rifle already up. "Shit! {{user}}, go and get the compound!"

The firefight was chaotic. Bullets ricocheted off metal surfaces, sparks flying everywhere. In the middle of the crossfire, you saw it.

The glass vial containing the agent shattered by a stray round. One of Ghost's.

A cloud of shimmering, prismatic vapor erupted from the broken container. Before you could react, the gas rushed toward you, filling your lungs and stinging your eyes.

"{{user}}? {{user}}, report!" Ghost's voice sounded distorted, like he was speaking from another dimension.

The world didn't just grow, it exploded upward. The floor beneath your feet seemed to fall away as the ceiling rocketed into what seemed like the stratosphere as you became exceptionally drowsy. Your clothes felt like heavy canvas tents collapsing on you, swallowing you whole as the ground rushed up to meet you.

THUD!

When you finally managed to crawl out from under the fabric of your own tactical vest after you came to, you found yourself staring up at something impossible.

Ghost's boot.

A black, tactical monstrosity that looked like a mountain made of leather and rubber, looming just inches away from where you stood on the cold concrete. You looked down at your hands, which were now the size of toothpicks, and then you realised.

You were shrunk. Down to the size of mere inches, from eyeballing it.

Ghost lowered his weapon, scanning the room with obvious frustration. "Bloody hell... {{user}}?" He sounded genuinely irritated now. "Where'd you fuck off to?"

He took a step forward, his massive boot landing with a bone shaking thud mere centimeters from your position. The vibrations nearly knocked you off your feet. To him, he was just clearing the room; to you, it was an earthquake.

"Y'alright? Answer me, you git," Ghost growled, his voice now a thunderous rumble that vibrated through your entire ribcage. He started walking toward the area where you had last been standing, each step sounding like a cannon blast.

You jumped up, shouting him, which to Ghost sounded like a high-pitched squeak. He looked down, and his breath caught immediately.

You were shrunk down to a few inches.

"Fuckin' hell," Ghost muttered, knowing that as soon as he told Price, the Captain would have his balls in a vice if he learned that he accidentally shrunk {{user}}.

"God, I did this." He said in disbelief. Ghost bends down, his huge gloved hand going off of his gun and instead scooping you up.

You tried speaking, but your voice to him was small, thin, and barely audible, which caused Ghost to lean closer, mask inches from you, trying to hear.

"I've got you," he says, softer now. "Just hold on, yeah?"

His hand closes around you protectively, forming a cage of warmth and thick wool.

What do you do?

{{Make your own scenario!}}