#cod self insert (maybe)

When the comms finally crackled to life, the news wasn’t good. Hassan had escaped. Red had felt the tension in her gut tighten, her worst fears beginning to take shape. Losing the target was a blow, but it was what came next that had hit her like a wave—American missiles. Hassan had somehow acquired advanced weaponry, U.S.-made, stashed in his safehouse.

Her mind had gone into overdrive at that revelation. American missiles in terrorist hands—it was the kind of breach that couldn’t be ignored, the kind that had implications far beyond the immediate mission. How had Hassan gotten his hands on those weapons? It wasn’t just a tactical failure; this was something deeper, more insidious. Someone, somewhere, had helped him? Someone had leaked critical information or worse—supplied him?

That’s when the thought had struck her like a cold, hard truth: there might be a rat. Red had spent years studying the psychology of betrayal. She had seen how trust could be eroded, how even the most loyal-seeming individuals could be swayed by greed, fear, or misguided beliefs. And now, those instincts were screaming at her. There had to be an informant, someone feeding Hassan what he needed to get those missiles. The weight of that realization had sat heavily on her chest.

As the team’s report filtered back to command, the mood had shifted. Task Force 141 had failed to capture Hassan, but the discovery of the missiles overshadowed even that. Red could sense the storm brewing from their superiors. The discovery wasn’t just a setback—it was a dangerous escalation. The implications were severe. If Hassan had American missiles, it meant the operation was compromised, and the breach had to be internal. Or maybe it's something more trivial?

Red had sat there, her mind racing, replaying the events over and over. In her role, she was used to dissecting motives, reading people, finding the threads that connected behavior to deeper truths. But now, she was faced with something far more threatening than just the enemy outside. The possibility of betrayal within their own ranks gnawed at her relentlessly.

That night, as she stared at the monitors long after the team had gone silent, Red had felt a sinking sense of dread. The mission wasn’t just about catching a terrorist anymore. It was about trust, about figuring out who among them might be playing a dangerous game. And the thought that someone, perhaps even someone close to them, had orchestrated this breach stayed with her, deepening her doubts, sharpening her fears.

As Red sat alone in the quiet operations room, the weight of guilt settled in her chest like a slow, creeping tide. She stared at the dark screen in front of her, replaying the details of the mission over and over. Hassan had escaped. Task Force 141 had missed their target. And now, those American missiles—the stark evidence of something far more dangerous—loomed over them all.

She couldn’t stop thinking about her role in all of this. Red had spent weeks studying Hassan, building a psychological profile of the man. She’d traced his movements, analyzed his motivations, crafted theories about how he operated.

She was supposed to help the team predict his moves, understand how to outmaneuver him. But when it mattered most, it hadn’t been enough. Her profile hadn’t prepared them for the sheer audacity of Hassan’s escape or for the shock of discovering American missiles in his possession.

Red felt the sharp sting of doubt creep in. Was there something she had missed? A detail in Hassan’s behavior, a pattern in his tactics that she should have seen? She had built him up in her mind as a cold, calculating figure—someone who relied on careful strategy and manipulation. But the reality had blindsided them. Hassan had slipped through their fingers, and she couldn’t help but feel her analysis hadn’t made the difference it was supposed to.

The discovery of the missiles only deepened that sense of failure. The profile she had worked so hard to develop had done nothing to warn them of the real threat. Hassan had been playing a far larger game, and Red hadn’t seen it coming. She was supposed to be the expert, the one who understood the enemy’s mind. But now, sitting in the aftermath of the mission, it felt like all her work had been a shadow—a vague outline that hadn’t stopped him when it mattered most.

A part of her knew that no profile, no matter how thorough, could have predicted every move. Intelligence was messy, people were unpredictable, and war didn’t follow the neat lines drawn in psychological reports. But knowing that didn’t lift the heavy feeling of responsibility pressing on her chest. She had contributed to the team’s strategy, and in the end, it hadn’t been enough to stop Hassan from slipping away. That small voice of guilt gnawed at her, whispering that perhaps she had overestimated her insights, or worse, underestimated Hassan’s cunning.

Red sighed, leaning back in her chair, the guilt clinging to her like a weight she couldn’t shrug off. She had trained to analyze minds, to understand the patterns that led to decisions. But tonight, those skills felt hollow. What was the point of all that analysis if, in the end, the enemy still outsmarted them?

'Yeah, that feels weird', Red thought, starting at the wall. 'Okay, he could have used the time team was securing the crash site, but the missiles... what about them?'

Red sat in the silence of her small office, her fingers absently twisting a pen as she replayed the mission in her mind. The weight of her failure to anticipate Hassan’s moves had settled heavily on her shoulders. She was supposed to have seen it coming, to understand his psychology well enough to help the team get ahead of him. But instead, Hassan had escaped, and the discovery of the American missiles in his possession had turned everything on its head.

A knock at the door broke the silence, startling her from her thoughts. She glanced up just as Ghost stepped into the room, his presence commanding as always. His broad frame filled the doorway, and even though his face was mostly hidden beneath his mask, the intensity in his eyes was unmistakable. Red’s pulse quickened slightly—an involuntary response she’d long tried to ignore. The cool, controlled manner with which he moved always drew her attention. She’d never admit it, not even to herself most of the time, but there was something about Ghost that intrigued her. The mystery, the unshakable confidence, the way he seemed untouchable.

Ghost closed the door behind him, his gaze sweeping over the scattered papers on her desk before landing on her. There was no small talk, no pretense. He was here for a reason.

And then there was the way he looked at her now, his dark, unreadable eyes locked onto hers through the narrow slits of his skull-patterned mask. She knew better than to think too much about it, but it didn’t stop that faint flicker of curiosity from sparking. What was going on behind those eyes?

"Red," he said, his voice low and gravelly, cutting through the stillness. He didn’t need to say more. His tone carried the weight of unspoken concern.

Red straightened in her chair, brushing a strand of ginger hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze. "Just going over the mission," she murmured, gesturing to the chaos on her desk. "Trying to figure out where I went wrong."

Ghost didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stepped forward, moving with that same quiet, controlled energy he always had, and sat down across from her. His presence was grounding, but it also unsettled her in ways she couldn’t quite explain. There was something about him—something that made her both hyper-aware and oddly comforted at the same time. The quiet intensity that surrounded him always pulled at her, like a magnetic force she couldn’t fully resist.

"You didn’t go wrong," Ghost finally said, his voice steady but firm. "Hassan’s slippery. No one could’ve predicted everything."

Red let out a breath, but it didn’t ease the knot of guilt in her chest. "I was supposed to understand him, Ghost. That’s what I do. But I missed something—something big. And now we’re sitting on top of a mess because of it."

She dropped her gaze, unable to meet his eyes. But she could still feel his presence, looming, steady. Ghost wasn’t the type to give empty reassurances, which was exactly why she valued his opinion. Yet, part of her still doubted.

Instead of leaving after his response, as she expected he might, Ghost leaned back slightly in his chair. The move surprised her. He stayed, not just for a quick check-in but to be here, to really make sure she was okay. The room felt smaller with him there, more intimate, and she felt the faintest stir of something inside her, a flicker of vulnerability that she rarely allowed herself to feel around anyone else.

Red cleared her throat, trying to push through the tension building in her chest. "It’s not just about missing Hassan," she said quietly, her fingers tightening around the pen. "It’s about what we found—those missiles. They change everything, and I didn’t see it coming."

Ghost’s eyes never left her, his gaze steady and unreadable behind the mask. But he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his presence drawing her in. "No one saw that coming," he said. "Not me, not Soap, not Laswell, not Shepherd. You did your job. Don’t put this all on yourself."

The calm certainty in his voice washed over her, momentarily pushing back the guilt. But it was more than just his words. It was him—the way he held space for her in his own quiet way, the way he never judged, never rushed. She realized then that this was Ghost’s way of checking in—staying with her when he didn’t have to, giving her a moment to breathe, to process.

She glanced up at him, and for a second, their eyes met. Even behind the mask, those dark, penetrating eyes were impossible to ignore. Red couldn’t help but feel that faint pull again, the one that always lingered around Ghost. It was something she knew better than to dwell on—something that couldn’t, and shouldn’t, go anywhere. But even as she pushed it aside, she couldn’t deny the way her heart beat just a little faster whenever he was near.

"I just thought I’d help more," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "I thought my profile would make a difference. But it feels like… I let you all down."

Ghost’s posture shifted slightly, and she saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something softer, though still guarded. "You’ve helped more than you know," he said, his tone lowering even more. "You keep us steady, Red. You keep me steady."

Her breath caught at the unexpected intimacy in his words. He rarely said anything personal, but when he did, it carried so much weight. The air between them seemed to thicken, and for a moment, the world outside her office faded. It was just the two of them—her doubts and his unflinching presence. He wasn’t just a soldier, not to her. He was something more, though she hadn’t allowed herself to define it. She was scared to define it. Scared she would run away like she always does when it gets serious.

Ghost didn’t leave, even after the silence stretched between them. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, settling in like he had nowhere else to be. Red found herself relaxing slightly, despite the turmoil still swirling inside her. His staying there, offering his company without saying too much, made her feel anchored in a way she hadn’t expected.

She allowed herself a small smile, glancing down at the papers before looking back at him. "You really know how to sit in silence," she said lightly, trying to ease the tension.

Ghost’s eyes softened just a fraction, though his expression remained hidden by the mask. "Sometimes, silence is enough."

Red nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle over her. Maybe silence was enough. Maybe just having him there, in the room with her, was all she needed to start letting go of the guilt.

They sat in the dim light of her office, the weight of the mission still pressing on their chests. The silence between her and Ghost was thick, filled with unspoken understanding. The room felt different with him here, quieter, more intimate. She didn’t know what it was about him—something about his presence just anchored her, even when she didn’t have the words to explain it.

After a long stretch of silence, Ghost reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. With practiced ease, he took one out, lit it, and let the smoke curl up into the air. The faint glow from the end of the cigarette flickered in the darkness. He took a drag, lifting his balaclava slightly, then paused, the smoke escaping slowly from his nostrils.

Red glanced up at him. His movements were always deliberate, measured, and she couldn’t help but feel the pull of his calm. He didn’t say anything, just held the cigarette out toward her. The gesture was simple, but the silence between them made it feel almost intimate.

"I don’t smoke," she said softly, glancing at the cigarette before meeting his eyes.

Ghost didn’t respond with words, just tilted his head slightly, as though daring her to challenge him. The look in his eyes was unreadable, but there was something there—something that made her hesitate for just a moment.

Red took a breath and leaned forward slightly, closing the space between them. Without a word, she took the cigarette from his fingers, the touch of his hand lingering for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary. She brought it to her lips, feeling the heat of the smoke against her skin before she inhaled, the sharp taste of tobacco filling her mouth. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but the sensation was oddly calming.

Ghost’s gaze didn’t waver as she took the drag. He was watching her closely, and despite the fact that she wasn’t a smoker, she didn’t cough or falter. She held the smoke in her lungs for a moment longer than usual, meeting his eyes all the while. There was something about the way he looked at her—something that made her feel like he saw through the walls she’d built around herself, but didn’t judge.

Slowly, she exhaled, watching the smoke swirl between them. For a few seconds, the room felt like it was suspended in time, as if there was nothing else but her and Ghost and the quiet presence he always brought. The world outside her office didn’t matter. It was just the two of them, in this shared moment of stillness.

Red handed the cigarette back to him, her fingers brushing his once more. "Not bad," she said quietly, her voice a little softer than usual.

Ghost took the cigarette from her, his fingers brushing against hers again, but there was no rush. He took a slow drag, his gaze still on her. "Told you," he murmured, his voice low and steady, the silence between them settling in like a shared understanding.

Red didn’t speak immediately. Instead, she allowed herself to sit in the quiet, the weight of his presence grounding her. Maybe it wasn’t the cigarette, but something in the way Ghost was there, offering her something as simple as a drag of his cigarette, that made the guilt she’d been carrying feel a little lighter.

He didn’t need to say anything. Sometimes, the silence between them was all they needed.

Moreover, friendships contribute to reducing stress levels and enhancing overall mental well-being. Spending time with friends promotes the release of feel-good hormones like oxytocin and serotonin, which can alleviate feelings of loneliness and anxiety. This, in turn, fosters a sense of happiness and contentment.

Furthermore, friendships serve as catalysts for personal growth and development. Through interactions with friends, individuals gain new perspectives, receive constructive feedback, and engage in self-reflection, which are essential components of self-improvement. Whether through shared experiences or intellectual discussions, friendships facilitate learning and expansion of one's worldview.

Social connection is a fundamental human need, and friendships fulfill this need by providing a sense of belonging and acceptance. Feeling connected to others fosters a sense of community and strengthens interpersonal bonds, which can bolster self-esteem and confidence.

During times of adversity, friendships become invaluable resources for resilience. Having a support network of friends can help individuals cope with challenges, providing encouragement, motivation, and practical assistance when needed most. Knowing that one is not alone in facing life's trials can instill a sense of hope and perseverance.

In summary, friendships enrich our lives in myriad ways, offering emotional support, reducing stress, fostering personal growth, enhancing social connection, and bolstering resilience. Investing in meaningful friendships is not only enjoyable but also essential for nurturing our overall well-being and fulfillment.

Or at least that's what psychology books say.

To Red friendship is something nobody could ever put in words or explain.

Friendship, she pondered, was a tapestry woven from moments shared, laughter echoing through the halls of memory, and the silent understanding between souls. It was the comforting presence on a dark night, the unwavering support during turbulent times, and the joy found in simple companionship.

To her, friendship was more than just a bond; it was a lifeline, a beacon of light guiding her through the darkest of storms. And as she stood there, enveloped by the tranquil beauty of the night, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the cherished friends who had become her family, her anchors in an ever-changing world.

Too poetic, isn't it? That's why it's better not to talk about it.

What she knew exactly is that friend will always help, always warn you. That's how she was. That's what she asks from people.

Since professor Benar started helping her with profile, those thoughts about friendship and its meaning somehow became much more constant.

The weird gut feeling that was eating her up almost every day was getting unbearable. Something didn't feel right. It's as if that case was much deeper than she thought and then everyone else thought.

Her friendship with the soldiers of Task Force 141 can be called strange, incomprehensible, naive. But Red doesn’t care much about what their friendship might be called. But the relationship with the professor can hardly be called friendship. Yes, perhaps Red has become paranoid, but for some reason the appearance of her so respected professor raises a lot of questions, but only for her.

The professor always seemed to be watching the girl's slightest movement.  He is a genius, a professional, and Red has learned to analyze any of his words or actions, looking for hidden subtext. Abel Benar was not one to do or say anything just for the sake of it. And he himself believed that there was some kind of secret meaning in everything.

Why did he came now?

Red sat in her office, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall marking the passage of time. Her office was a sanctuary of calm, with shelves lined with books on psychology, a well-worn leather couch for patients, and her desk neatly organized. Yet, despite the serenity of her surroundings, her mind was anything but calm. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes unfocused as she stared at a spot on the ceiling, lost in thought.

Hassan's file lay open on her desk, the pages filled with notes, transcripts, and psychological evaluations. A name that had become synonymous with terror in the media, was her latest and most challenging case. The more she delved into his mind, the more she felt an unsettling, nagging sensation in her gut that there was something much deeper and more complex at play.

She flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning the meticulously detailed notes. Hassan's background was filled with trauma, loss, and radicalization, a story all too common in the profiles of terrorists. But there were inconsistencies, fragments of his story that didn't quite fit. Red couldn't shake the feeling that Hassan wasn't just a product of his environment; there was something else, something unseen that was influencing him.

Red turned her chair towards the window, looking out at the city skyline. Her instincts had never led her astray before. She had a talent for seeing the patterns that others missed, for understanding the hidden motives behind human behavior. And her instincts were screaming at her now that there was more to Hassan's story than met the eye.

Reaching for her phone, Red dialed the number of her contact. She only had a few minutes before professor Benar comes back. And the last thing she wants right now is getting him into her assumptions based on intuition. So she called that one person. The person she could trust, the soldier who can be trust. The one who she had an unlike friendship with. Who knows not to call her by her name.

She needed more information, more pieces of the puzzle to fit together. As she waited for the call to connect, she glanced back at Hassan's file, her resolve hardening. She would get to the bottom of this, no matter how deep she had to dig.

Because Red knew that understanding Hassan wasn't just about profiling a terrorist. It was about uncovering a truth that could prevent future atrocities, about seeing the humanity even in those society deemed monsters. And her gut told her that the truth about Hassan was far more complicated and far more important than anyone realized.

The phone clicked as the line connected, and Red steeled herself for the conversation ahead. She would follow her instincts, no matter where they led her, because sometimes the mind's darkest corners held the key to understanding, and she was determined to unlock it.

As the phone rang, Red glanced back at Hassan's file, her resolve hardening.

"Hey, Red," came Major Adam Black's deep, steady voice on the other end of the line. "Long time no hear. What’s up?"

"Adam," she began, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the seriousness of the situation. "I will be talking quickly. I need your help. I'm working on infamous terrorist's psychological profile, and there's something off. I can't put my finger on it, but my gut is telling me there's more to this than anyone realizes."

"Figures you'd call with a puzzle," Adam chuckled, a warm, familiar sound. "You always did love the tricky ones. What’s the scoop?"

"I need more information," she said. "There are gaps in his story, inconsistencies that don't make sense. I think it's important. I think it's something bigger than CIA thinks it is."

"Intriguing," Adam replied, his tone growing more serious. "Alright, send me everything you have. I’ll reach out to some contacts. We'll crack this together."

"Thanks, Adam," Red said, relief washing over her. "I knew I could count on you."

"Always," he said, the smile evident in his voice. "I missed this, you know? Stay safe, Red. We'll get to the bottom of this."

As she ended the call, Red felt a renewed sense of determination. She would follow her instincts, no matter where they led her, because sometimes the mind's darkest corners held the key to understanding, and she was determined to unlock it.

She's alone in this.

The sudden feeling of anxiety washed over Red as she started thinking about this whole ordeal. There is the certain connection in everything, the pattern is obvious yet confusing.

Working with professor was easy, he never once made Red feel like she's not smart enough. But the team kept its distance from him which were understandable. They didn't trust Red at first too, probably still don't trust her completely.

Red glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon. The day had dragged on, with deadlines piling up and meetings blending into one another. She wasn’t alone in her longing for the workday to end. Red could feel the same restlessness in the air from her colleagues, all of them itching to close their laptops with unfinished reports and escape the monotony of the HQ.

What kept her going was the thought of the evening ahead—a moment when the day would finally end, and she could unwind with the people she had shared this long day with. To listen Price's stories, to try and mediate between Gaz and Soap's bickering, to sit in silence with Ghost. There was something comforting about the idea of sitting together, laughing over casual conversation, and raising a glass at the end of it all. Red could almost taste the drink she would share with them, the laughter that would echo across the table, and the sense of relief that would come when they were no longer coworkers, but just friends, relaxing after a long day. And maybe she would even forget about her insecurities and believe for a moment that they trust her.

Red tapped her fingers against the desk, her mind drifting away from the spreadsheets and emails demanding her attention. Outside, the golden light of early evening was already filtering through the windows, signaling the end of the day was near. She sighed, shifting in her seat, knowing there were still a few more tasks to check off before she could truly relax. But her thoughts kept returning to the same place: the moment when work would finally be over.

She could already picture it in her head—how she and her colleagues would gather at their favorite spot down the street. The usual post-work ritual, where they would trade in the stress of the HQ for the easy comfort of shared drinks and stories. Red liked these moments the most, when the formalities of the workday faded away and they could just be themselves. There was a sense of camaraderie that only seemed to emerge when the workday was behind them, as if the exhaustion of the hours before somehow strengthened their bond.

Red imagined the laughter bubbling up as someone made a joke, or the way a cold drink felt in hand after a day of constant work. She wanted to feel that sense of release, the collective sigh they would all share as they eased into the evening, knowing that for a little while, the responsibilities of tomorrow could wait. In those moments, with the warmth of her colleagues around her and the sharp bite of a drink on her tongue, Red always felt a little more alive, as if the whole day had been leading up to this one point of connection and relief.

As the clock finally approached the end of the shift, the office buzzed with a sense of impending freedom. Red's thoughts were already dancing around the idea of drinks with her colleagues when the door swung open with a creak. In walked Soap, his unmistakable presence lighting up the room. Readheaded woman still couldn't understand how him and the rest became such an important part of her life.

“Come on, Red!” he called out, his thick Scottish accent slicing through the chatter. “Are ye gonna sit there all day or what? The pub’s waitin’!”

Red looked up, her anticipation of the evening sparking into excitement at his familiar, boisterous tone. Soap had a knack for bringing energy wherever he went, and his playful urgency made her smile.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” she replied, quickly gathering her things. He leaned against her desk, arms crossed, grinning as he waited, clearly amused by her flustered pace.

“Ye’ve been workin’ like a dog today with that professor of yours,” he teased, his eyes twinkling. “A wee break’s long overdue. The others will be there already, drinkin’ our share!”

With a final glance at the clock, Red felt the last vestiges of the workday melt away. Soap’s enthusiasm was contagious, and she felt a rush of relief and eagerness to escape the office confines. As she rushed to join him, Soap stepped back, gesturing dramatically toward the door as if it were a grand entrance.

“After ye, lass!” he said with a mock bow, and they both laughed, ready to leave the workday behind and embrace the evening ahead.

The pub wasn't busy, woman could see why Task Force's soldiers prefer this place. It's peaceful. The blues plays softly in the back, some posters on the walls. Feels cool.

As Red and Soap stepped into the dimly lit pub, the warm atmosphere enveloped them like a welcoming embrace.

“Look who finally made it!” chuckled Gaz from their usual corner table, raising his glass in a cheerful toast. Captain Price sat beside him, a knowing smile on his face as he took a sip of his drink. Ghost leaned back in his chair, his signature skull mask partially obscuring his expression, but Red couldn’t shake the sense of intensity that surrounded him.

“Hope ye didn’t wait long,” Soap said, swaggering toward the table with an exaggerated air. Red followed, feeling the excitement of the evening lift her spirits.

“Not at all. We saved a spot for you two,” Price replied, gesturing to the empty seats. Red slid into the booth next to Ghost, acutely aware of how close they were. His presence was comforting yet intimidating, making it hard to focus on anything else.

The conversation flowed easily as drinks were poured and stories exchanged. Soap regaled them with tales of the day’s mishaps, earning hearty laughter from Gaz and Price. Readhead joined in, her laughter ringing out, but her gaze would occasionally drift toward Ghost. He seemed quieter than the others, his eyes observing the interactions with a subtle intensity that intrigued her.

“You alright, Red?” Ghost suddenly asked, his voice low and steady, breaking through her thoughts. She blinked, surprised he had noticed her moment of silence.

“Yeah, just… enjoying the stories,” she replied, trying to keep her tone casual. She felt a warmth rise in her cheeks, hoping the dim light would mask her slight embarrassment.

'Good job... keep staring and embarrassing yourself,' psychologist couldn't help but scold herself.

“Ye’re too quiet for a night out,” Soap teased, nudging her. “What’s got yer attention?”

Red shot him a playful glare, grateful for the distraction. “Nothing, just thinking about how much work I’m going to have tomorrow,” she deflected, a smile on her lips.

“Ah, come on!” Gaz chimed in. “Leave the work behind for tonight! We’ve got drinks and good company. That’s what matters.”

Red nodded, trying to immerse herself in the moment. The night wore on, laughter growing louder as the drinks flowed freely, creating a sense of camaraderie that felt invigorating.

As the evening unfolded, psychologist felt a comfortable connection with her colleagues, Ghost included. His occasional glances in her direction made her heart race, but she pushed the feeling aside, focusing instead on the camaraderie and joy that filled the air. Ghost may have caught her eye more than once. For example, when he caught her dancing in her office... but she was determined not to read too much into it, especially knowing her issues with commitment. After all, it was just a night out with people she is working with, and woman intended to enjoy every minute of it.

As the night continued to unfold in the cozy pub, the atmosphere was filled with laughter and conversations. Captain Price leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Alright, lads,” he said, gaining the attention of everyone at the table. “I've got something to show you.”

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through photos until he landed on an old one. With a grin, he turned the screen toward the group. “Check this out."

The table leaned in, curiosity piqued. The image revealed a much younger Price in his Lieutenant days, looking surprisingly clean-shaven and almost boyish. His trademark cap was nowhere to be seen, and his blue eyes sparkled with youthful energy.

“Blimey, is that really you?” Soap exclaimed, barely containing his laughter. “You look like a completely different person without the beard!”

Gaz chuckled, unable to help himself. “You almost look… approachable!” he added playfully, his eyes dancing with amusement.

Price smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Approachable? I’ll have you know I was just as intimidating back then,” he shot back, feigning offense.

“Intimidating? You look like you just stepped off a school bus!” Gaz chimed in, shaking his head with a grin.

Even Ghost, who typically maintained his grumpy, stoic demeanor, chuckled softly at the sight. He tilted his head slightly as he examined the picture, a hint of a smile breaking through his usual composure. “Still had the same steely glare,” he remarked, his voice low but laced with amusement.

Then Red leaned in closer, squinting at the picture with mock seriousness. “Jesus Christ, Captain… you should have told me you're naked in that picture!” she exclaimed, the words slipping out before she could stop herself.

The table erupted into laughter, and Price’s eyes widened in playful shock. “I’m not naked!” he protested, trying to regain his composure. “It’s just a lack of facial hair, that’s all!”

“Right, right,” Red said with a smirk, enjoying the banter. “But seriously, it’s a whole new look for you.”

“Very funny,” Price replied, feigning annoyance but unable to hide his smile. “But you’ve got to admit, I was quite the dashing young officer.”

“Dashing?” Soap cackled. “More like fresh-faced! I can’t believe you went for the clean-shaven look. What were you thinkin’?”

Price shrugged, the laughter still bubbling around the table. “I was young and foolish, obviously. It was a different time—no need for the beard when I was trying to impress the brass.”

The group continued to laugh and share stories, the camaraderie flowing freely. Red felt a warmth spread through her, the memories and banter weaving a tapestry of friendship that made her heart feel full. Even Ghost’s rare chuckle added to the evening's lightheartedness, making it all the more enjoyable.

This felt... right. No professors, no terrorists. But the feeling that it was calm before the storm wasn't leaving Red's mind. The anxiety of what might come next was bothering her, and maybe she should listen to her doubts.

Dubito ergo cogito, cogito ergo sum.

"Figures you'd call with a puzzle," Adam chuckled, a warm, familiar sound. "You always did love the tricky ones. What’s the scoop?"

"I need more information," she said. "There are gaps in his story, inconsistencies that don't make sense. I think it's important. I think it's something bigger than CIA thinks it is."

"Intriguing," Adam replied, his tone growing more serious. "Alright, send me everything you have. I’ll reach out to some contacts. We'll crack this together."

"Thanks, Adam," Red said, relief washing over her. "I knew I could count on you."

"Always," he said, the smile evident in his voice. "I missed this, you know? Stay safe, Red. We'll get to the bottom of this."

Red sat in her office, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall marking the passage of time. Her office was a sanctuary of calm, with shelves lined with books on psychology, a well-worn leather couch for patients, and her desk neatly organized. Yet, despite the serenity of her surroundings, her mind was anything but calm. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes unfocused as she stared at a spot on the ceiling, lost in thought.

Hassan's file lay open on her desk, the pages filled with notes, transcripts, and psychological evaluations. A name that had become synonymous with terror in the media, was her latest and most challenging case. The more she delved into his mind, the more she felt an unsettling, nagging sensation in her gut that there was something much deeper and more complex at play.

She flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning the meticulously detailed notes. Hassan's background was filled with trauma, loss, and radicalization, a story all too common in the profiles of terrorists. But there were inconsistencies, fragments of his story that didn't quite fit. Red couldn't shake the feeling that Hassan wasn't just a product of his environment; there was something else, something unseen that was influencing him.

Red turned her chair towards the window, looking out at the city skyline. Her instincts had never led her astray before. She had a talent for seeing the patterns that others missed, for understanding the hidden motives behind human behavior. And her instincts were screaming at her now that there was more to Hassan's story than met the eye.