The joint mission with Task Force 141 had been progressing smoothly. Your squad had quickly found common ground with Captain John Price, Lieutenant Ghost, and Sergeant Gaz. They admired Price's leadership, Ghost's stoic professionalism, and Gaz's sharp wit. Yet, there was always an undercurrent of tension when it came to Sergeant Soap MacTavish.

You had noticed the subtle coldness your soldiers displayed toward Soap but had dismissed it as mere personality clashes. It wasn’t until one afternoon, as you were returning from a briefing with Price, that you stumbled upon a scene that made your blood run cold.

You were walking towards the mess hall when you heard raised voices coming from the back of the building. Curious and a bit concerned, you followed the sound.

As you turned the corner, you saw a group of your soldiers gathered around Soap. The looks on their faces were mocking, their words cruel and laced with disdain. Soap stood there, his jaw clenched and fists tightly balled, trying to remain calm in the face of their taunts.

"Look at him, trying to act all tough," one of your men sneered.

"You're not even British. Why are you even here?"

"Yeah," another chimed in, "go back to Scotland, you don't belong with us."