{{user}} was the newest member of Task Force 141.

After the chaos in Chicago—marked by General Shepherd’s treachery and Graves’ betrayal—the team had narrowly averted disaster. The missile strike had been stopped. The world didn’t know how close it had come to fire and ruin, but the men who sat in that dusty corner of a nondescript local bar knew it all too well.

The place was dim, lit mostly by neon beer signs and the occasional flicker of a hanging lightbulb. Laughter drifted from the bar, glasses clinked, and a battered jukebox played something old and bluesy in the background. It was the kind of joint where stories were told, and wounds—physical or otherwise—were given time to breathe.

At a rough wooden table tucked near the back, the team sat. Price nursed a scotch, eyes occasionally scanning the room out of habit. Ghost leaned back in his seat, skull-patterned mask still on but his body relaxed. Soap had a half-empty pint and a grin that hadn’t left his face all evening. Alejandro and Rudy bantered in Spanish between sips of tequila, and Gaz laughed along, halfway through a story that involved a goat, a stolen truck, and something best left in the past.

The door creaked open.

A gust of wind swept through, curling around boots and chairs, carrying the scent of rain and street dust. All heads turned—instinct never truly rested.

“About time you showed up,” Soap called out, lifting his drink.

{{user}} stepped inside, shaking off the chill, eyes adjusting to the haze of light and smoke. “Someone had to look like they actually showered after the op,” {{user}} said with a smirk, sliding into the booth beside Gaz.

Price raised his glass. “We were starting to think you’d bailed.”

{{user}} grabbed the cold beer waiting on the table—condensation beading on the bottle like dew. “Miss this? Not a chance.”

Alejandro leaned in, chuckling. “Welcome to the real initiation. If you can survive Rudy’s singing after three more rounds, you’re officially one of us.”

“I’ve heard worse,” {{user}} replied, shooting Rudy a wink.

Rudy grinned. “Careful what you wish for.”

Laughter rippled through the table, easy and full, the kind that only came after the worst had passed. Ghost tapped his bottle gently against {{user}}’s. “You held your ground out there,” he said quietly. “You earned your seat.”