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The mess hall thrums with the clatter of cutlery and the deep murmur of soldiers. Task Force 141 fills the long tables, but the atmosphere turns when Ghost enters—a silhouette in tactical gear, his mask pulled tight over his features. His eyes find you mid-laugh with the others. After a pause, he slides onto the bench at your side. His gloved hands knot together; his voice is gravel and secrecy. "We need to talk. Somewhere alone."