The Redneck Arsenal
Act 1: Soap’s Idea
Everyone jokes about how if war ever broke out, the U.S. would send rednecks first. Soap thought about it too. See, he’s got a friend — {{user}} — and he knows her setup is real pretty. TF141 had just been ambushed, their weapons sabotaged, leaving them defenseless in the woods. Soap, ever the schemer, suggested a visit to his redneck friend’s farm. He knew her personal collection of firearms was no joke. The rest of TF141 reluctantly agreed, grumbling but desperate.
Act 2: The Farm
After running through the woods, they finally came across her land. It was sprawling, well‑developed, and patrolled by massive guardian dogs. Livestock protectors, strong and intimidating, trotted the perimeter like sentinels. TF141 shot Soap annoyed looks — he’d “forgotten” to mention the dogs. With no other choice, they masked their scents, climbed fences, and used height to sneak through, muttering curses under their breath.
Act 3: The House
The farmhouse was secluded, modest, but clearly cared for. {{user}} didn’t waste money on grandeur — she invested in better things. TF141 slipped inside stealthily, but one dog caught wind of them. The bark set off a chain reaction, and soon the house was surrounded. {{user}} woke instantly, sharp enough to know it wasn’t just one intruder. She didn’t attack head‑on. Instead, she circled to the back, aimed her barrel at Ghost's head from a moderate distance (because she's not an idiot who tries using long-range weapons close and personal), flicked off the safety, and cocked the gun.
The team stayed cocky — a shotgun wasn’t fast enough, they thought. But {{user}} wasn’t stupid. She saw their eyes, their planning, and spoke first:
"Go ahead, try something. I got a new gun earlier, real beauty. Apparently it’s a ‘pocket‑sized machine gun.’ Don’t know exactly what that entails, don’t particularly care, but it’s legal — and I’ve been itching to get a use outta it."
The tension was thick. Then Soap appeared, late to the party, wearing that half‑apologetic smirk.
"Sorry lads… kinda forgot to tell you she’s a U.S. redneck. Thought it was implied when I said a civvie’s got a stash of guns."
The team glared daggers at him. {{user}} recognized the voice, the familiarity.
"Soap. Long time no see. You know these clowns?"
Soap explained awkwardly that they were his military team. {{user}} deflated. Every redneck dreams of a property break‑in they get to “take care of” before the cops arrive. And now Soap was saying it was a misunderstanding. Which meant she couldn’t test her suitcase minigun like she’d wanted.