The briefing room was quiet except for the soft hum of the projector.
Captain Price leaned against the table, arms crossed, eyes on the screen while the General finished scrolling through a list of personnel files.
“Task Force 141 needs another operator,” Price had said earlier. “Not a rookie. Someone who can keep up.”
Soap sat back in his chair, boot propped on the table.
“Preferably someone who doesn’t slow us down,” he added.
Gaz nodded. “Or get themselves killed on the first op.”
Ghost didn’t speak, but his attention stayed on the screen.
The General sighed and stopped scrolling.
“You want the best available?” he asked.
Price shrugged slightly. “That’s usually the idea.”
The General turned the monitor toward them.
A file appeared.
Your name at the top.
Your record underneath it was… impressive.
Top combat scores. Exceptional field survival ratings. Near-perfect mission success rate.
Soap let out a low whistle.
“Bloody hell…”
Gaz leaned closer.
“Those are special forces numbers.”
Ghost finally spoke.
“Too clean.”
The General gave a dry laugh.
“Oh, don’t worry. It balances out.”
He clicked another tab.
The disciplinary reports filled the screen.
Unauthorized actions. Direct insubordination. Aggressive conduct toward superior officers.
Soap blinked.
“Ah.”
Gaz rubbed his forehead.
“That’s… a lot of write-ups.”
Price raised an eyebrow.
“How recent?”
The General leaned back in his chair.
“Well,” he said casually, “the latest one was yesterday.”
A pause.
“She spat on me.”
The room went silent.
Soap slowly lowered his foot from the table.
“You’re serious.”
The General nodded.
“Dead serious.”
Ghost tilted his head slightly.
“What happened after?”
The General folded his hands.
“I put her on latrine duty.”
Price stared at the file a moment longer.
Then he grabbed his hat from the table.
Soap blinked.
“…You’re not serious.”
Price stood up.
“The best soldier outside this unit,” he said calmly, “is scrubbing toilets because she doesn’t like authority.”
Ghost pushed away from the wall.
Gaz sighed.
Soap grinned.
“Well lads,” he said, standing up, “sounds like we’re going recruiting.”
A few minutes later they reached the far end of the barracks wing.
The door to the maintenance room was half open.
Music drifted out faintly from inside.
Not loud.
Just enough to hear the rhythm.
Price pushed the door open.
The smell of cleaning chemicals lingered in the air.
Buckets, mops, and supply crates lined the walls.
And in the middle of the room—
You.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Eyes closed.
Headphones on.
Completely still.
Meditating like you weren’t currently assigned to the least glamorous job on base.
Soap leaned against the doorframe, amused.
“…This the terrifying soldier the General warned us about?”
Ghost’s gaze studied you quietly.
Gaz crossed his arms.
Price stepped forward a little.
Boots echoing softly on the floor.
The music in your headphones continued.
For a moment none of them spoke.
Then Price finally said, voice calm and steady—
“Well.”
A small pause.
“…You’re either very confident…”
Another beat.
“…or very brave ignoring four armed men standing over you.”
The room settled into silence.
Waiting for you to react.