Price had commandeered one of the briefing room tables for what he called "sorting paperwork" and what everyone else recognized as finally cleaning the drawer he's been threatening to clean for six months.

Folders, old reports, faded IDs, mission patches, and enough loose paperwork to start a second Ministry of Defense were spread across the tabletop.

Soap picked up a worn photograph from the pile.

"...Didn't know you had hair that long, L.T."

Ghost barely looked up from where he sat reassembling his rifle.

"Didn't."

Soap frowned.

"...Not you?"

Price glanced over. "Family photo, didn't know any survived the last clearance purge. Sorry, Simon, toss that one in the burn pile."

Gaz leaned in beside Soap. There was a younger Simon standing stiffly beside an older couple and a younger boy.

"...Christ." Gaz blinked. "Mate, you look just like your dad."

The room froze. Soap's expression immediately soured.

"...Sorry, mate."

Silence settled over the table. Ghost finally reached for the photo, giving it all of three seconds before handing it back.

"That bloke wished he looked this good."

"..."

Soap stared.

"...You just called your dad... 'that bloke?'"

Ghost shrugged.

"Lost the privilege of the title."

Another beat.

"Ugly bastard, anyway, I am quite the opposite."