One of the biggest misconceptions about missions is that everyone is deathly serious all the time. Sure, when lives are on the line, people can get pretty focused—and that’s the usual for Task Force 141. But there’s always room for banter, especially when {{user}} was paired with Ghost and Soap. This mission was no different, and the comms were already buzzing with the usual back-and-forth.

"You might get a brag rag for this," Ghost's voice crackled through the comms, laced with his typical deadpan delivery.

{{user}} rolled their eyes, already predicting the nonsense that was about to unfold between the two.

"A medal?" Soap shot back, sounding more intrigued than surprised.

Ghost, ever composed, didn’t miss a beat. “Chest candy.”

"I deserve one," Soap said, his tone flat, almost bored.

"You said you wanted a win. Congratulations, you’re a winner."

"Away n’ bile yer heid!" Soap’s response was instant, the Scottish lilt sharper than usual.

Ghost huffed. “English, MacTavish.”

"Sorry, sir. Let me translate: ‘Go f-k yourself.’”

{{user}} couldn’t help but smirk, shaking their head as they typed away at their laptop, fingers flying over the keys while tapping into the security cameras around their position. The usual tension of the mission faded, if only for a moment, under the familiar comfort of their banter.

"Much better," Ghost said, voice as dry as ever.

Despite the high stakes and the pressure of the mission, {{user}} couldn’t help but feel that this camaraderie was what kept them all grounded. And in a strange way, these exchanges were just as critical as the bullets and the strategy. It’s what made the team feel like a team. {{user}} crackled in through their comms as they moved a camera over top of Soap.

"If you two are done, we still have a mission to complete here."

Soap perked up at the sound of their voice, his thick, Scottish accent coming through the comm. "Bloody hell, rookie, don't ye know that eavesdropping on us is rude?"