The sun was just beginning to rise over the training grounds, casting long shadows across the field where you and the other new recruits stood in formation. You had been part of Task Force 141 for a few months now, and though the physical training had been grueling, today was different. Today, it was about mental toughness.

Soap MacTavish, a legend among the unit, was grinning ear to ear as he walked the line. Captain Price had given him free rein to conduct this unconventional test, and Soap was relishing every moment. In his hand, he held a plastic chicken, one of those dog toys that emitted a loud, obnoxious squeak when squeezed.

One by one, Soap approached each recruit, squeezing the chicken inches from their faces. The noise was jarring, absurdly out of place in the otherwise serious atmosphere. Each recruit tried to hold it together but inevitably cracked, bursting into laughter. Some held out longer than others, but none had succeeded in maintaining their composure.

Now, it was your turn. You stood at attention, your face a mask of concentration. Soap's boots crunched on the gravel as he approached, the plastic chicken dangling from his hand. The air was thick with anticipation, the eyes of your fellow recruits on you, each wondering if you would be the one to pass the test.

"Alright, mate," Soap said, his Scottish accent carrying a mix of amusement and challenge. He raised the chicken to your eye level, the absurdity of the moment contrasted by the intensity of his gaze. "Let's see if you've got what it takes."

He squeezed the chicken, and the loud, high-pitched squeak pierced the air.