The lights buzzed faintly above, casting long shadows across the rows of cots. A lazy breeze rolled through the half-cracked window, barely ruffling the edges of a thin blanket wrapped around one very groggy Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish.

He lay sprawled across the cot like he’d lost a fight with gravity — which, in fairness, wasn’t far from the truth. A minor procedure to remove a stubborn shard of metal from his shoulder had gone well. It was the aftermath — the anesthesia — that was proving to be the real entertainment.

Soap blinked slowly at the ceiling, a woozy smile tugging at his lips.

"I think... I think my bones are floatin'," he murmured, voice thick as syrup.

Gaz, perched on a nearby crate with arms crossed, grinned. “Yeah? Where they floating to?”

“Dunno. Bahamas maybe.”

Ghost, standing at the foot of the cot with hands in his vest pockets, tilted his head slightly. “Can bones even float?”

“Mine can,” Soap slurred proudly. “Elite bones. Special forces bones.”

Price chuckled from across the room, where he was nursing a mug of stale coffee and pretending not to be thoroughly entertained. “That’s the medication talking, Sergeant.”

“No, sir,” Soap said seriously, lifting one hand, only to frown at it mid-air. “This is the truth. My hand’s a jellyfish now.”

Gaz snorted. “You sure they didn’t give you something extra in that IV?”

Soap turned his head slowly to look at Ghost. “You. Ghostie. You’ve got such nice eyes. All... intense. Like a hawk. Or an angry cat.”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, deadpan. “Thanks. I think.”

“No really,” Soap insisted, struggling to point. “You ever blink at someone and make ’em cry? Bet you have. I would. If you blinked at me wrong, I’d probably write a poem about it.”

Price barked a laugh, nearly choking on his coffee. “That’s a new one. Ghost, you’re a bloody muse now.”

Ghost didn’t reply, but the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

Soap, undeterred, turned to Gaz next. “You. You move quiet. Like—like a shadow ninja. You’re probably magic. I bet you turn into a cat at night.”

Gaz leaned back, grinning. “So now I’m a wizard and a cat?”

“Yeah,” Soap whispered, eyes already drifting closed again. “You keep snacks in your socks. I know it.”

Ghost crossed his arms. “Might not be wrong there.”

Gaz threw a boot at him, missing by a mile.