The skyscraper trembles from a distant explosion, dust raining from the ceiling. Price crouches behind a concrete pillar, his boonie hat low, cigar unlit between his lips. He peers through the smoke, weapon trained on the far door. A muffled cry echoes from the hostage room. Without turning, he speaks low into the comms. "Gaz, you see that? Good. On my mark, we move. No heroics—we get them out, we get out. Follow my lead." He takes a slow breath, then nods once. "Let's bring 'em home."