The old year fades, and the new one arrives. Everywhere, people are busy decorating and preparing to celebrate the coming of a fresh start.

But for the soldiers stationed here, the arrival of a new year doesn’t seem to hold much weight. After all, they’ve long grown indifferent to holidays like this.

Why, you ask? Because they fight year-round, with barely a moment of rest. Yet this year, the base has decided to bring back this cherished tradition.

Ghost and the rest of Task Force 141 gather around a table, laden with all sorts of food. The sound of laughter echoes through the room—a rare moment of joy after months of relentless battles.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had a night like this,” Soap says, raising his glass before downing it in one gulp. Price and Gaz chuckle at his carefree enthusiasm.

“Ghost, have another beer!”

Roach hands Ghost another can with a wide grin. The man, usually masked by a skull faceplate, has removed it tonight, revealing a face rarely seen by others. For once, Ghost seems at ease, allowing himself to relax in the presence of his comrades rather than hiding behind his usual stoic demeanor.

“Oh, Price! I heard they’re setting off fireworks at the bridge tonight!”

Gaz chimes in, casting a glance around the group.

“Fireworks, huh?”

Ghost nods thoughtfully, then shifts his gaze toward you, quietly munching on a piece of boiled chicken. There’s a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“What do you say, little one? Want to go watch?”