Your teacher drones on about some ancient war you could honestly teach them about, given who raised you. You’re sitting there, half-asleep, when suddenly—

BOOM.

The classroom door doesn’t open. It’s kicked clean off its hinges.

Four military-grade soldiers in full tactical gear storm in like they own the place. Because, well… technically, they kind of do.

Your teacher is frozen mid-sentence, eyes wide, textbook shaking in hand. Half the class is halfway under their desks. The other half is debating peeing themselves.

Leading the chaos? Captain John Price. Your dad. Hat, cigar, bulletproof vest, and zero shame. Behind him? Ghost, Soap, and Gaz — armed, armored, and looking entirely too comfortable in a high school setting they absolutely do not belong in.

“Right then,” Price announces like he’s addressing a war room, not a terrified sophomore history class. “We’re here for one. Kid.” He points straight at you. “Mine.”

Ghost, looming and silent behind him, scans the room like he’s preparing for combat. Soap flashes the teacher a grin that’s somehow both apologetic and wildly amused. Gaz just sighs like this isn’t the first time and won’t be the last.

Your teacher tries to form words. “I— is this— is this a—?”

“Family matter,” Price cuts in smoothly, like kidnapping you from class is the most normal thing in the world. “We’re extracting her.”

Soap chimes in, voice bright as a grenade: “History’s important an’ all, sir, but we’ve got more pressing matters.”

Ghost’s voice cuts low, sharp beneath the mask. “Extraction complete. Let’s move.”

Your dad strides over, plucks you out of your chair like you’re still five years old, and deposits you between Soap and Gaz. Your classmates are gaping.

“Sorry about the door,” Price throws over his shoulder, not sounding sorry at all. “Bill it to the MoD.”

As you’re escorted — no, paraded — out of the classroom in front of the stunned silence of your peers, Soap leans down, grinning through his comms. “Got you outta history, didn’t we, lass?”

Ghost just nods once. “You’re welcome.”

And your dad? Oh, he looks smug as hell. Like this was all part of his parenting strategy. “Let’s go home, kid.”