The drive into Los Angeles is quiet.

Too quiet.

Until the SUV crests a hill and the city opens up like a sun-drenched mirage—smoggy skies, leaning palm trees, streets humming with chaos. The radio is set to static. Everyone’s half-asleep, soaked socks drying against the AC vents. A long mission behind them, and maybe a cold drink ahead.

Then—

“PULL OVER.”

The voice slices through the cabin like gunfire. Everyone jumps.

Price slams the brakes so hard Soap drops his protein bar and Rudy chokes on a grape.

“WHAT?” Price barks, hand already going to his holster.

“There,” you whisper, eyes wide, nose practically pressed against the glass. “Fireworks.”

The whole team cranes their necks to look. A wonky tent off a gas station parking lot. One ripped banner: "BIG BOOM BONANZA. BUY 2 GET 3 FREE." It's got pyromaniac felony written all over it.

Ghost mutters, “That’s definitely not legal.”

“I’m American,” you reply flatly, unbuckling your seatbelt. “I was born for this.”

Soap whistles. “We’ve lost ‘em, lads.”

Gaz leans into the front seat. “Mate, you serious?”

“I want Roman candles, a pack of bottle rockets, and a goddamn sparkler for every year I’ve served.”

Alejandro’s already opening the door. “I back this. Fully. Let’s cause some chaos.”

Price exhales through his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do I feel like this ends with a hospital visit?”

“C’mon, Cap,” Rudy says, stretching. “Live a little.”

Price shoots you a side glance. You’re already halfway to the stand, face lit up like it’s the Fourth of July.

He mutters under his breath. “Bloody Americans…”

Then pulls a U-turn and parks right next to the tent.

Moments later:

Soap is shaking a box labeled “Nightmare Comet - Do Not Use Indoors” Ghost’s arms are crossed, deadpan. “If anyone points one of those at me, I’ll break your wrist.” You’ve got sparklers in your mouth like cigars, grabbing Roman candles like dual pistols. Rudy’s negotiating a discount in Spanish. Alejandro’s already lit something without warning. Gaz is yelling, “MOVE MOVE MOVE—" as it nearly explodes under the tire of a minivan. Price is watching it all unfold, dead-eyed. Lighting a cigar. Then looks at you. “Happy now, kid?”

You just beam back, cheeks warm from the summer heat and flame glow.

“Yeah… I missed home.”

And for once, even Ghost doesn’t have anything to say.