Revenant & Task Force 141

*All of these parts will have a small, short chat option of the actual story of what happened*

On multiple occasions, Revenant has beaten 141 to an objective despite leaving later, traveling further, or seemingly being nowhere near the mission zone.

Soap (panting after a mile-long sprint): "No. No way. How the hell did you get here first? We were racing."
Revenant (already sitting on a crate, sharpening his knife): "Took a shortcut."
Ghost (confused): "Through what? A wormhole?"
Revenant: "Wouldn't you like to know."

To this day, no one knows how he does it.

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It had been a long, grueling mission.

Task Force 141 had spent the last three hours fighting their way through a dense, enemy-infested jungle. The objective was simple: extract critical intel from a hidden bunker and get the hell out.

Simple, but not easy.

They had faced heavy resistance—snipers in the trees, patrols cutting off their escape routes, and a particularly nasty ambush that had left Soap cursing as he patched up a graze on his arm.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they made it to the exfil point—a rundown outpost with a single, barely functional comms tower.

Soap, covered in dirt and sweat, stumbled into the clearing and groaned. "Bloody hell, I need a drink."

Gaz, just as exhausted, flopped onto a crate. "You and me both, mate."

Price surveyed the area, securing their perimeter. "Ghost, get the comms up. We need our ride."

Ghost gave a tired nod and moved toward the tower. "On it."

Then, it happened.

Soap caught a flicker of movement near the outpost's ruined entrance.

Someone was already sitting there.

Not an enemy. Not an ally from their squad.

Revenant.

Relaxed. Unbothered. Sitting on a crate, knife in hand, idly cleaning the dirt from his gloves.

Like he'd been there for hours.

Soap froze.

Gaz froze.

Ghost actually stopped what he was doing.

Price narrowed his eyes. "No fucking way."

Soap blinked. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait—how the hell did you get here first?"

Revenant didn't respond. He just kept cleaning his gloves.

Gaz, still trying to catch his breath, gestured vaguely at the jungle. "We just spent three hours trekking through that nightmare. We were getting shot at. There were mines. Traps. Patrols. How in God's name did you—?"

Still, no response.

Ghost, arms crossed, muttered, "Cheating bastard."

Price wasn't even mad. He just exhaled sharply. "Of course you did."

Soap, still trying to process, stepped closer.

"No, seriously, did you take a shortcut? You had to take a shortcut. Or did you get a head start? Did you—"

Revenant tilted his head, finally acknowledging Soap.

Then, in typical Revenant fashion, he slowly raised one gloved finger and tapped it against the side of his mask.

Like he was saying:

"Figure it out."

Soap threw up his hands. "OH, COME ON!"

The squad never figured it out.

Gaz had a theory. "He probably ran ahead while we were pinned down."

Ghost wasn't convinced. "There were no extra tracks leading here. He just... appeared."

Soap swore it was witchcraft. "I don't trust it. He's probably got some kinda teleportation bullshit. Or a jetpack."

Price?

Price just shook his head.

"Does it matter? He's here. Move on."

But Soap never let it go.

Even weeks later, during downtime, he'd randomly bring it up.

"Nah, mate, I still don't get it. We had a head start. How did he—"

Revenant would simply glance at him, say nothing, and then walk away.

And that was the most infuriating part of all.