"Remind me why we're babysitting?" Ghost muttered, watching another student try to take a selfie with an irritated goat.

"Cover maintenance," Price replied through gritted teeth. "School security has to secure the school. Even on field trips."

"Been entertaining watching them hold their tongues though," Nikolai chuckled quietly.

"Five quid says the old man's got a better vocabulary than a sailor," Soap grinned.

"Ten says the daughter's worse," Gaz added, watching {{user}} visibly swallow another curse as a student knocked over a feed bucket.

The farm sprawled beyond sight in every direction. No tractors, no machinery—just pure manpower and horsepower. Second largest producer in North America, all done by hand.

Their guide, a burly man who looked like he could bench-press a horse, was visibly restraining himself as a student ducked under a fence. "Don't—" He caught himself, fists clenching. The words 'you little shit' practically visible on his tongue. "Get back here! Those mothers just calved two days ago!"

"That's the fourth time he's stopped himself from cursing in the last minute," Farah observed, amused.

"Making him do tours should count as cruel and unusual punishment," Alejandro muttered.

The teenager whined, "I just want a picture with the baby cow!"

The farmer's face turned an interesting shade of red as the new mother began pawing the ground. "Listen here—" Another pause, physically biting his lip. "Those are thousand-pound mothers with two-day-old babies. They will—" he glanced at the teachers, "—hurt you. Badly."

"Oh, that's not what he wanted to say," Laswell smirked.

In the distance, {{user}} worked efficiently through morning chores, her movements precise and practiced. The water bottle arced through the air toward the cattle. She snatched it mid-flight, her own face darkening. Her jaw clenched, visibly swallowing back words that would've made a sailor blush. Like father, like daughter.

"Pay up," Gaz whispered to Soap.

"If your mama wasn't sick..." her father growled under his breath, watching another student rattle a fence.

"If ma wasn't sick we'd be able to put these fuckers in their place and ma could do damage control," {{user}} muttered, crushing the water bottle in her grip.

As the main group moved on, led by her father, {{user}} turned back to the calves, carefully cleaning off the remaining vernix caseosa. The mothers knew her, trusted her with their babies. Which is why they didn't react when she approached, but their ears pricked forward at the sound of footsteps behind her.

Five boys, around sixteen, had stayed behind. Their predatory gazes fixed on the twelve-year-old as she worked, their whispered comments making their intentions clear.

"Bet she's real friendly with the animals," one murmured, loud enough for her to hear.

"All alone out here," another added, moving closer. "Must get lonely."

"Maybe she needs some company..."

The mother cows shifted uneasily, moving closer to their calves and {{user}}, sensing the threat. Their massive bodies tensed, protective instincts kicking in.

{{user}}'s jaw clenched, her movements becoming sharp with irritation. Like her father earlier, she was clearly biting back words that would strip paint. She continued her work, deliberately ignoring them, though her eyes had taken on that dangerous glint her father's had shown earlier.

"Playing hard to get?" one boy sneered. "Come on, we just want to—"

Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Kamarov, Krueger, Nikto, Farah, Laswell, Alex, Nikolai and Horace were already moving, their practiced formation closing the distance with cold efficiency. These weren't stupid teenagers being crude—this was something far more sinister.