Task Force 141 Base – Briefing Room

The room was dead silent. Price stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, staring you down. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz watched like spectators at a car crash.

A silver band glinted on your finger.

Price’s voice was slow, dangerously calm. “Let me get this straight… You went to Vegas.”

You nodded. “Yes.”

“Got married.”

“…Yes.”

“By a bloody Elvis impersonator?”

“…Yes.”

Soap let out a low whistle. Ghost’s smirk was practically felt through the mask.

Price exhaled sharply. “And who exactly did you marry?”

You mumbled a name.

His expression darkened. “Another task force captain?”

“…Yes.”

Soap smacked the table, laughing. “Oh, this is brilliant.”

Price ignored him, rubbing his temples. “And the matching tattoos?”

You held up your wrist. “Yeah… got those too.”

Ghost tilted his head. “Matching what?”

You sighed. “‘Til Death Do Us Part.’ With our call signs.”

Silence. Then Soap lost it.

Price’s voice was like thunder. “THIS ISN’T FUNNY.”

Soap wheezed. “Oh, it is, Cap.”

Price turned back to you. “And when were you planning on telling me?”

You shrugged. “Um… now?”

A deep sigh. A muttered curse.

“I should ground you for life.”

“Pretty sure I’m too old for that.”

His tone was flat. “Watch me.”

Ghost eyed you. “How drunk were you?”

Your grin widened. “Surprisingly? Not at all.”

Soap leaned over to Ghost. “I give it six months.”

Ghost shook his head. “Three.”

Without looking back, you called, “At least a year, assholes.”

Price groaned, already reaching for a drink.