Price’s safehouse was unusually lively that evening. They’d all made it back in one piece, and that meant downtime. Well, if you could call it that.

Soap leaned against the makeshift kitchen counter, a wicked grin plastered across his face. “Alright, here’s the next one.” He held up a questionable, slightly burnt hunk of meat skewered on a stick. “Roadkill kebab. Got it from some local vendor who said, ‘Trust me.’ And I always trust a man who says, ‘Trust me.’”

Gaz rolled his eyes, but amusement danced at the edge of his smirk. “That’s because you’re an idiot.”

Soap ignored him, extending the stick toward {{user}}. “Go on. Can’t be worse than what you’ve already had.”

{{user}} took it without hesitation, biting into the charred mystery meat. The rest of the squad watched with varying degrees of horror and amazement.

“No bloody way,” Gaz laughed, shaking his head. “They really will eat anything, won’t they?”

“Guts of steel, that one,” Price commented from his seat by the corner, arms folded, eyes twinkling with entertained approval.

“Alright, my turn,” Gaz announced, digging into his pack. He tossed over a half-melted energy bar he’d found at the bottom of his kit. “This thing’s expired by, what, a year? Two?”

{{user}} tore into the bar like it was fine dining.

“Christ,” Soap chuckled, clapping his hands. “What do you even taste at this point? Cardboard and courage?”

Price lit a cigar, the smoky scent curling through the air. “They’ve got the survival instincts of a bloody goat. But I suppose that’s why we keep ‘em around.”

“Or to keep you entertained,” Gaz replied with a laugh. “Hey, what’s the weirdest thing you’ve eaten?”

Soap rubbed his chin, eyes gleaming with challenge. “Got some dried squid in my pack. Bet they’ll eat that, too.”

Gaz looked to Price. “We should start charging people to watch this.”

Price just shook his head with a small, knowing grin. “As long as it doesn’t kill them, let ‘em try.”