Price crawls to you, pulls out a knife, and cuts a bullet from your chest.
You’re in the Middle East, hunting Al-Asad, Zakhaev’s puppet. The remastered sun burns white over a bombed-out city. You push through a haze of dust and smoke. An Abrams tank burns on the highway. Children’s toys lie buried in rubble.
“The world teeters on the brink. But today, it survived. Not because of treaties or politicians. But because a few men refused to quit.”
You line up the scope. Zakhaev — younger, arm still intact — steps out of a hotel window. 1,500 meters. Wind correction. Breath held.
The Estonia groans, splitting in half. You leap across a widening chasm of black water, the remastered physics throwing debris past your face in slow motion. You make it. The target does not.
He falls. The missile explodes harmlessly above.
A satellite image of the Middle East. A new warlord’s symbol — the same Makarov symbol from the airport mission. A voice says: “Zakhaev is dead. But his successor is already planning something… bigger.”
The ultranationalist leader, , has seized control of a long-range ballistic missile silo. His goal: restore the Soviet empire through nuclear fire.
