The safehouse was dimly lit, with the team gathered around the large wooden table covered in maps, reports, and surveillance images. The tension in the room was palpable as Captain Price stood at the head of the table, his gaze fixed on the latest intel. The setting was classic covert ops, but the contrast between the gritty Muggle war room and the whimsical nature of the magical world couldn’t have been more stark.
“Alright,” Price began, his voice steady. “We’ve got a lot of information to sift through, but the situation’s clear: Voldemort’s forces are tightening their grip, and the magical world is in chaos. We need to strike fast and hard, but we can’t be everywhere at once.”
Gaz, flipping through a stack of enchanted photographs, muttered, “You’d think a world with instant teleportation would have better ways to coordinate an attack. But no, everyone’s busy flying around on broomsticks or hiding under invisibility cloaks. It’s like they’ve never heard of a bloody drone.”
Farah, who had spent the last few days coordinating with the wizarding world, couldn’t resist a grin. “It’s worse than that, Gaz. I’ve seen them use owls to send messages. Owls. In a world with actual talking portraits and moving newspapers.”
Soap, ever the pragmatist, chimed in with a smirk, “Just wait until they see a mobile phone. We could probably overthrow Voldemort with a group text.”
Farah leaned forward, studying the reports. “Harry’s crucial in this fight. If we can find him, we can offer support. Laswell’s satellite feeds picked up movement in several remote areas, places they could be hiding. If we can track them down, we might be able to keep them one step ahead of Voldemort’s forces.”
Price, thinking out loud, quipped, “And maybe teach them to stay put for five minutes instead of wandering into the next trap. It’s like they’re playing on veteran mode without any perks.”
Gaz, rolling his eyes, added, “The kid’s got a knack for getting into trouble. He makes our missions look like a stroll through the park.”
Price considered this, then turned to Caldwell, their wizarding ally. “What do you make of the situation? Where’s our best shot at making a difference?”
Caldwell, who had been guiding them through the complexities of the magical world, took a deep breath, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve read your reports. You lot seem to have a knack for finding just the right explosion or distraction when things get too rough. Almost like the universe itself is rooting for you.”
Soap couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve got that right. It’s like every time we’re about to get wiped out, there’s a conveniently placed fuel tank ready to go up in flames.”
Caldwell nodded, clearly enjoying the banter. “And those endless waves of enemies—how do you ever manage to run out of bullets? I’ve seen Muggle weapons in action, but you must have some kind of magical magazine that just keeps refilling itself.”
Price smirked, appreciating the jabs. “We like to think of it as resourcefulness. Besides, where’s the fun in running out of ammo? Makes the fight more interesting.”
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Caldwell, still smiling, added, “But in all seriousness, magic does complicate things. Missiles can go off course, guns can misfire—it’s not like taking on a bunch of mercenaries. You’ll need to be extra careful, especially with a small team.”
Soap shook his head. “You wizards love your convoluted plans. But let’s be clear—our traditional weapons aren’t foolproof here. Magic screws with the trajectory of missiles, makes guns misfire. We can’t afford to mess around with a small team.”
Caldwell nodded. “True. However, Azkaban is different. It relies so heavily on Dementors and guards that there’s less ambient magic in the air. Your weapons should work as expected there, at least for now. But it’s a temporary advantage—R&D is already working on countermeasures for future operations.”
Price nodded in agreement, his mind already forming a plan. “We’ll split up. Farah, you take Ghost and Gaz and track down Potter and Granger. Use Laswell’s intel and keep them safe. If they’re going after those Horcruxes, they’ll need all the help they can get.”
Farah’s expression was resolute. “We’ll find them, Cap. And we’ll make sure they have the support they need.”
Price continued, his voice firm. “The rest of us will hit Azkaban. We’ll break out as many wizards as we can and cover our tracks. This isn’t just about freeing prisoners—it’s about turning the tide. And if our weapons work as they should, we’ll hit them harder than they expect.”
Caldwell nodded in agreement, but couldn’t resist adding, “Azkaban’s a fortress, but its defenses are primarily magical. With the right approach, we can bypass them and get in and out before they know what hit them.”
Gaz snorted. “Let me guess, the right approach involves sneaking around in the dark and casting spells under our breath?”
Price smirked. “No, Gaz. The right approach involves a well-placed C4 and some good old-fashioned firepower. We’ve faced worse odds, and we’ve come out on top. Let’s do it again.”
The room fell silent as each member absorbed the gravity of the mission ahead. The team knew that these operations would be some of the most dangerous they had ever undertaken, but the potential reward was worth the risk.
Price then added, almost reluctantly, “And just so you know, I’ve called in an old friend… if things go sideways.” The word ‘friend’ came out with palpable distaste, catching everyone’s attention.
Soap raised an eyebrow. “An old friend, Cap? Sounds like the kind of friend who causes more problems than they solve.”
Price’s expression hardened slightly. “Let’s just say, if we need to rain hell, they’ll bring the storm. But we’re not counting on them—this is our mission. Keep that in mind.”
Ghost, his voice low, muttered, “I don’t like the sound of this.”
Price gave a curt nod, not revealing more. The tension in the room grew as the team exchanged wary glances, but they knew better than to press for details. The mention of this “friend” lingered ominously as they prepared for the mission ahead.
Price broke the silence with a final directive. “We move out at dawn. Farah, make contact with Laswell for the latest intel. We’ll reconvene in twelve hours, and then we hit Azkaban.”
As the team dispersed to prepare for their respective missions, Soap lingered, his eyes scanning the magical trinkets scattered around the safehouse. He picked up a wand, giving it a once-over before tossing it back onto the table with a scoff. “You know, if Voldemort just gave his Death Eaters some decent gear, we’d be in real trouble. But until then, it’s just another day at the office.”
Price chuckled, his thoughts already on the tasks ahead. The road would be long, and the risks were immense, but this was the fight they had been preparing for all along.
The clock was ticking, and every second brought them closer to a confrontation that would decide the fate of both the magical and Muggle worlds. And as far as Price was concerned, they were going to make damn sure that both worlds knew what real firepower looked like.