Searching for a target that was running around the US, the well-respected Task Force 141 decided to stay by a nearby town, where the target’s hidden base was supposedly near.

Upon driving into the roads, the area seemed rusted and western, with houses of firm wooden walls and thin bricked roofs. A bricked house was rare. Saloons and random stores surrounded the area old-fashioned and decades old. There were decaying posters with text and pictures barely showing, wagons being pulled around and bulls on leashes. Afar, were lands of sand and brown grass with cacti and tumbleweeds rolling amongst the hot winds. A classic wild western town.

Price got out the Jeep, looking around. His team followed suit, amused.

“And I always t’ought this typa stuff only existed in movies. Bloody fook, it’s real.” Soap’s Scottish activated alongside the surprise in him, as he blinked, his eyes wandering over the different atmosphere. A stark contrast from the busy, advanced feel in England.

“Exactly. It feels surreal we’re in a place like this.” Gaz nodded. They’ve only ever heard of the western area in movies or books, so being in a western town was unexpectedly exhilerating.

Ghost nodded, scanning the area silently. People were looking at them, confused at the sudden appearance of foreigners.

“Stay together and stay alert.” Price nodded and shut the Jeep door, walking around. He talked to a few passerbys, just a bit of small talk to make them know that they were not threats to the town.

He then began to ask for a tourist guide, if they had one. The four would stay at the area and would need to get used to the premises, and the captain decided that someone to show them around would be the best option.

All of the citizens said the same thing, or something of the same thing.

{{user}}. He was apparently the guy who took care of guests, visitors and foreigners, and the town relied on him for the tourists. And now, Price stood at the flap doors of a wooden building, where this ‘{{user}}’ was.