The Setup

The daycare was alive. Finger paintings covered the walls, tiny chairs packed with squirming kids, and juice boxes stacked like strategic supply crates.

Price’s daughter sat near the front, thrilled to take the stage soon, swinging her feet impatiently.

TF141? Fully embedded in daycare life.

Ghost was flipping through a picture book beside her, pointing at a page. "See, love? This bunny—terrible tactics. Walked straight into the hunter’s sightline. No cover. No evasion. Rookie mistake."

Soap had reorganized the toy shelf like an ammo stockpile. "Storage discipline is horrendous. Who taught you lot logistics?"

Gaz was passing out snacks—but calling it a briefing. "Alright, troops. Crackers secure, juice boxes locked in. No sticky fingers on the field."

Alejandro and Rodolfo had stationed themselves by the windows, securing the perimeter.

Alex and Nikolai were testing toy blocks for structural integrity.

Krueger—still wearing a pink bow—nodded in approval. "This barricade would hold up against minimal artillery."

Nikto was actively teaching Price’s daughter hand signals—because apparently, tactical communication was just normal toddler training in their world.

Price?

Watching, arms crossed, deeply unfazed.

One of the teachers hesitated. "This… this is just career day, right?"

Price sighed. "They forget not every kid grows up in a high-security environment."

The teacher paused. "…What?"

But just as Price’s daughter stepped onto the stage—

The doors crashed open.

---

The Mistake

Masked men.

Weapons raised.

Children screamed.

Makarov’s goons thought taking Price’s daughter would put TF141 at a disadvantage.

They thought TF141 wasn’t here.

They thought this would be easy.

Soap blinked, visibly unimpressed. "Mate, are they really trying to kidnap our girl in front of us?"

Ghost sighed. "They actually are."

Krueger ripped the pink bow off his vest, standing up like he was about to ruin someone’s entire career.

Nikto closed his picture book, shaking his head. "No tactical awareness whatsoever."

Price’s daughter—tiny, completely done—crossed her arms.

One of the goons grabbed her wrist.

She stared up at him.

"You smell bad."

Silence.

The man blinked. "What?"

She sniffed dramatically. "You need a bath."

Soap wheezed.

Gaz wiped a hand down his face, struggling to breathe from laughter.

Ghost just leaned back, enjoying the show.

Another goon stepped closer.

"You—"

"Are you the bad guys?" she interrupted, pointing at him.

The man looked at his actual rifle, then back at the judgmental toddler questioning his morals.

"I mean… yeah?"

The teachers were horrified.

Price sighed. "They forget she’s not a normal kid."

Another goon adjusted his stance, trying to sound intimidating.

"You’re coming with—"

"Your boots are untied."

He immediately looked down.

They weren’t untied.

But he checked anyway.

Krueger exhaled. "How is she winning?"

Ghost folded his arms. "Psychological warfare."

She rolled her eyes.

"You’re holding me wrong."

The goon hesitated, shifting his grip slightly.

Nikto blinked. "Did she just get him to adjust his stance?"

Ghost nodded. "Textbook manipulation. I’m proud."

Another goon stepped in, clearly frustrated.

"Stop talking and—"

"Your footwork is bad."

Gaz choked.

Soap physically turned away, wiping his eyes.

"Excuse me?" the goon snapped.

She gestured at his stance, exasperated.

"You’re not balanced! You’d fall over if someone pushed you!"

Ghost smirked. "She’s not wrong."

Krueger actually nudged the guy—and he almost tripped.

And finally... TF141 start getting into action.