The squad is exhausted, riding in tense silence after a mission. You, however, have one singular goal—McDonald’s. Unfortunately, the truck is not a democracy.

You lean forward, voice casual. "Boys, hear me out. Macca’s."

Soap exhales sharply through his nose. "No."

Gaz doesn’t even turn his head. "Swear to God, mate, let it die."

Price, eyes on the road, cuts in before you can plead. "We’re heading straight back. No stops."

You persist. "We’re passing one anyway! It’s tactical efficiency. Fast. Simple. Nuggets."

Ghost finally moves. Not much—just enough to lift his head, to acknowledge your nonsense. His voice is flat, almost bored.

"I’ll slap the McShit out of you."

Silence.

You hesitate. "…Okay, but—"

"And I’ll do it with a McFlurry spoon."