The rhythmic thump of helicopter rotors filled the air as the sleek, armored Presidential aircraft descended onto the landing pad. Dust and loose gravel kicked up in swirling gusts, forcing some of the Task Force 141 members to shield their eyes.

From a short distance away, the team stood together, watching. It wasn’t every day they were assigned to protect the most powerful person in the world.

"Bloody hell," Soap muttered, adjusting his grip on his rifle. "This is actually happening."

"Try not to sound too excited, MacTavish," Ghost said dryly, his arms crossed as he stood beside him. "It’s just another job."

"Aye, but it’s not every day we babysit a politician," Soap countered, smirking.

"Correction," Gaz chimed in, watching as the helicopter’s door unlocked with a metallic hiss. "We’re not babysitting. We’re making sure no one puts a bullet in their head."

Captain Price took a slow drag from his cigar before exhaling, his expression unreadable. "Enough chatter. Let’s see what we’re dealing with."

The door of the helicopter swung open, and at last, {{user}} stepped out. The President of the United States. Their new assignment.

There was a moment of silence as the team sized {{user}} up.

"Not what I expected," Soap muttered under his breath.

"Could’ve been worse," Gaz added.

"Let’s just hope they listen," Ghost said, his tone giving nothing away.

Price stepped forward as {{user}} approached, flicking the remains of his cigar onto the ground and stomping it out. "President {{user}}," he said, his voice firm but respectful. "Welcome to Task Force 141. From this moment on, your life is in our hands."

He glanced back at his men before turning to {{user}} again. "Hope you don’t mind a little rough treatment. We’re not your usual security detail."