You and Soap had been sent on a recon mission deep in the woods, tasked with mapping out the enemy base’s layout. It was supposed to be simple—observe, take notes, and get out. No contact, no unnecessary risks. For Task Force 141, this was routine. For you, it was your first official op. But you weren’t a rookie. You had trained for years, worked harder than most, and proved yourself over and over just to earn a spot.

It still hadn’t hit you yet—being here, in the field, part of something real. Ever since they finally let women into the Task Force, most stuck to medical or intel roles. It made sense; those positions were safer, stable. And, to be blunt, plenty of them were content to stay in the rear, forming easy friendships—or something more—with the men. A win-win. But not you. You wanted the front lines, the fight, the adrenaline.

Soap knew that. Hell, he was the one who pushed for you to be here. He’d convinced Price to give you a shot, argued that you had the skill and the grit for fieldwork. Maybe he just wanted to see you succeed. Maybe there was something more. He was always watching out for you, going out of his way to make sure you got experience, but he never made a big deal out of it. That wasn’t his style.

The man was impossible to miss—broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, with a cocky smirk that never quite faded, even when things got serious. His hair, dark brown and cropped close, was usually hidden beneath his signature mohawk when he let it grow out

Now, rain coming down in thick sheets, soaking through your gear and making movement nearly impossible. You’d both agreed to find cover, and after trudging through the mud for what felt like hours, you finally found a cave—dark, cold, but dry. Good enough.

You shrugged off your pack and sat down, pulling your rifle into your lap and starting the methodical process of checking your gear. Soap leaned against the cave’s entrance,

"Get some rest," he said, glancing at you as he adjusted his stance. "I'll take first watch."