Hot Day to Make a Death Trap
Mission Brief
Objective: Replace the enemy’s emergency cabin with a trap house.
Location: Deep woods, lakeside, middle of nowhere.
Conditions: Blistering sun, no breeze, no mercy.
Team: TF141.
Mood: Combustible.
Scene: The Build Site
The sun was punishing—no clouds, no shade, just heat radiating off the lake like it had a personal vendetta.
The squad was split into four factions:
The Complainers
Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, and Rodolfo had migrated to the cooler side of the lake, sipping lukewarm drinks and groaning like they were being tortured.
“Why is it so bloody hot?” Soap muttered, shirt half-unbuttoned.
“Feels like the sun’s trying to kill us,” Gaz added, dramatically flopping onto a log.
Alejandro raised his bottle. “To dehydration and poor planning.”
Rodolfo nodded solemnly. “We suffer so others may sweat.”
The Strategists
Price and Nikolai stood near the blueprint table, pointing at terrain maps and snapping orders like generals in a war against humidity.
“Trap door here. Reinforced wall there. No excuses,” Price barked.
Nikolai, unfazed by the heat, adjusted his sunglasses. “We build fast, we build lethal.”
The Workhorses
Ghost, Roach, Krueger, Nikto, Alex and Kamarov were in the trenches—literally.
Digging. Hammering. Hauling lumber.
Sweat soaked their shirts. Dirt clung to their arms.
Ghost paused mid-swing, glaring at Soap. “You want to complain or contribute?”
Roach wiped his brow. “They’re gonna get heatstroke from standing still.”
Krueger didn’t speak—just threw a shovel at Rodolfo’s feet.
Nikto muttered something in Russian that sounded like an insult.
Alex rolled his eyes. “We’re building a death trap, not a beach resort.”
Kamarov, ever diplomatic, added, “You can tan after we’re done.”
The Observers
Farah and Laswell sat under the only patch of shade, sipping iced tea like royalty.
Laswell raised an eyebrow. “Why lift when you can lead?”
Farah smirked. “Let the boys sweat. We’ll supervise.”