War wasn't a pretty sight. It never was. There was too much devastation, the odd few times for rest and fun, though it never came often. It was all one cycle; wake, fight, eat, sleep, wake, fight, eat, sleep.

You, {[user}], was lucky enough to be assigned to Taskforce141, a team that felt more like a family. Captain John Price, Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley, and Sergeants Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick and John 'Soap' MacTavish. The five of you, five peas in a very small, yet comfortable, pod.

Recently, the five of you had been sent on a bigger mission, one a little ways away from the base. It was gruelling, though it felt so similar to many other missions that the squad had been sent on before. Blood, gore, the usual bullshit; you all got dirty, the world was cleansed.

Maybe you got a little too dirty, however.

~

The ride back to base was horrid, flies making their ways into the back and hovering wherever they could. Captain Price was in the front, leaving Soap, Ghost and Gaz in the back with you. You, a blood-soaked individual that had barely any time to change clothes after absolutely obliterating the enemy team. A mission well done.

Next mission? Get some new clothes that weren't covered in blood and bodily fluids.

"Yoo fuckin' reek, mate-" The scotsman, Soap, spoke up, earning a little glare from Ghost. Gaz sat there, holding back a little laugh of his own. The calm after the storm, allowing you all to settle back down and celebrate a mission well done.