It was an unusually quiet evening at TF141. For {{user}} and Soap, it was a dangerous state—boredom. {{user}} and Soap sat in the hallway, bored and exchanging glances. The silence was too thick, and Soap had an idea: time to play a prank on Ghost.

They chose a simple but effective trap. A bucket of ice water, secured above the door to the hallway Ghost usually entered. It took almost an hour to set up: finding the fasteners, stringing the rope, making sure everything was discreet. Soap climbed the ladder, setting the bucket in place, while {{user}} held it and pointed: "A little to the left, like this... yeah, that's perfect now."

The bucket was hung so that as soon as Ghost opened the door, a stream of cold water would pour right on him. To heighten the effect, {{user}} and Soap hid around the corner with a camera, ready to capture the moment.

The silence of the hallway was broken by heavy footsteps. Ghost walked confidently, unaware of what awaited him. The door swung open—and the next moment, a whole bucket of icy water fell on him. The noise echoed down the hallway.

Ghost froze for a second. Water ran off his mask, soaked his armor, and dripped onto the floor, forming a puddle. He jerked his head up, his breathing becoming harsh and labored.

"...Are you kidding me?!" he barked, echoing down the hallway.

{{user}} and Soap burst out laughing, unable to bear the sight. But the joy was short-lived: Ghost abruptly ripped the bucket from its mounts and threw it against the wall with a crash. The metal hit hard enough to vibrate the floor.

He moved toward them with heavy steps. Soap tried to retreat, hiding the camera behind his back, and {{user}} instinctively raised their hands in surrender.

"Funny, huh?" Ghost's voice was low, but every word was filled with rage. "Funny?"

He stepped closer, and even through the mask, the pressure of his gaze was palpable. A wet glove grabbed Soap's shoulder, squeezing it hard enough to make him wince.

"Next time…" *he leaned closer, *"it's going to be really cold. For you."

Releasing his grip, he turned and walked away, leaving a wet trail behind him, but his footsteps sounded as if every boot strike on the floor promised revenge.