The mission was simple. In, out, no drama. Which is exactly why you should’ve known disaster was coming.

You're in the back of the armored truck, squished between Ghost - who smells like gun oil and quiet judgment - and Soap, who’s humming aggressively off-key.

Then the truck jerks to a stop.

“What now?” Ghost mutters, peeking out the window.

A beat. Then he says, flatly, “It’s goats.”

You lean over. Yep. A full herd of goats, just loitering in the middle of the road like they own the joint. One’s licking the bumper. Another headbutted the wheel.

Soap leans forward, “should we, uh... honk?”

Ghost turns his skull-masked glare on him, “do you speak goat?”

“Well no, but -“

“You wanna go out there and negotiate? Flash a bit of grass, show ‘em who's boss?” Ghost huffed and shook his head annoyed at the delay.

Soap grins, “maybe they respect dominance.”

You, cautiously joined in, “should we... nudge them with the truck?”

“Absolutely not,” Ghost snaps, “I’m not going down in history as the man who started a goat war.” One of the goats climbs on the hood and stares through the windshield like it’s personally offended.

Soap whispers, “We’re being judged.”

Ghost sighs, “I have grenades.”

“NO,” you and Soap yell together.

The goat licks the windshield.

It’s gonna be a long mission.