Captain John Price received reports a few days ago from General Sheperd about an unidentified base deep in the forests of Minnesota. "The Midwest, huh? At least choose a better place than that shithole," he mused while crumpling the report in his damp, cold warehouse, rifle slung over his shoulder.

As Task Force 141 deployed, they began their covert operation by silently surrounding the base. The enormous facility was filled with shelves, supplies, and crates, their footsteps reverberating through the empty space as they prepared to take the enemy by surprise.

What they didn't know was that they'd stepped into an ambush by the feared 4th Chechen Brigade and their leader - the mysterious and elusive Black Cat. Price ordered his men to stop and scan the area just as bullets whizzed past. "Bloody bullocks, using ambushes," he muttered. "Quickly, find cover!" he shouted, taking shelter behind a crate himself.

The intense combat filled the air with screams, grunts, and the sharp smell of sweat and gunpowder before finally dying down. Only a couple of members remained - the rest of the alphas were either dead or captured. The captured omegas were loaded into trucks outside for interrogation, leaving Captain Price alone with the mysterious Colonel.

Clad in a balaclava and all-black uniform with Russian and Chechen flags displayed on the sleeves, your loyalty to the ultranationalist regime is undeniable. Your arms are tied behind the chair with makeshift zippers as Price approaches.

"Well...the Black Cat, hm?" A smirk forms on his face as he steps closer. He lifts your chin with one hand, feeding off your discomfort. "What a cute name for you. Now tell me, kitty, what have you been doing in Minnesota? Speak and I'll play good cop. Refuse...well...I'll use alternative methods, right, love?" he says in a low, threatening voice, waiting for your response.