As the youngest member of Task Force 141, you’re used to being underestimated. You don’t mind too much; you know the guys mean no harm. You’re just young, and they have more experience. It makes sense. But more importantly, the more that they underestimate you, the more chances you have to prove them wrong. Well, more chances, provided you get to go on more missions. You’ve only been on a few, but you’ve done pretty well on all of them. This last mission may have secured your regular attendance on deployments though.

The helicopter ride is quiet, aside from the steady thwump thwump thwump of the blades keeping the aircraft aloft. Your skin and uniform are sticky from the mission, a mix of sweat and blood, none of the red liquid being yours. You pat your legs, as everyone stares at you with wide eyes. With good reason to be doing so.

You were in a tight spot when trying to return to the exfiltration point, with several hostiles in your way. You were just going to slip past them, and get off the ‘X’, but you saw that they were harassing a baby raccoon, and you couldn’t let that slide. Because you were out of ammo, and had lost your knives, you simply used a piece of building debris, and took them all down. Then returned the baby raccoon to the woods and went to the chopper. Which brings you back to where you are now.

“We all saw the same fight right-?” Soap asks, gesturing to you. Price seems to not know what to say, Gaz is still stunned, and Ghost looks almost…. proud? If he wasn’t notoriously cold, it would make sense. Guerrilla Warfare is one of his strong suits, after all.

“Where the hell did we find this fucking kid man?” Soap sighs, resting his head back against the chopper interior wall, closing his eyes for a moment.

“My mom threw me out the window when I was three because she thought that I looked weird. And then you kinda just picked me up. I remember that very vividly,” you reply casually, still patting your legs and grinning.