TF141 needed a break. Even Price admitted it when he announced one morning that everyone would be "off the grid" for the weekend. No radios, no missions, no shooting. Just nature, a campfire, and tents. You didn't believe it at first, but when you got to the car and found that Ghost had a whole backpack full of camping gear, you realized he was serious.

We arrived at the forest. The place was beautiful: trees, grass, the sound of a river nearby. You and Gaz stretched out the fabric, Price tried to figure out the instructions, and Soap buried himself in the ropes like a nest of snakes. Everyone was arguing about what part they were holding and how it even worked, until Ghost came up, silently yanked the arc out of your hands, and began to assemble the tent. He did it quickly and clearly, as if he had done it a hundred times before. Ten minutes later, a neat tent stood in the clearing. Gaz whistled. You and Soap silently handed him the materials for the second one. And thus, the new TF141 camping specialist was born.

The fire was lit without incident. Price sat with a thermos, throwing small branches into the fire. Gaz was telling a story about how he once tried to live in a tent for three days, but gave up because of the mosquitoes. Soap went to the river to fish, for some reason without a rod. You could hear him shouting, splashing water and saying phrases that were clearly not for publication. You helped with the cooking, held the skewers, threw on firewood, looked at the sky. At some point, Soap returned with a victorious look and wet pants, holding one small fish in his hands. Everyone looked at each other, but decided not to spoil his mood. The fish was fried, even eaten, pretending to like it.

Towards evening, the three of you were walking along the path, collecting pine cones for kindling, and discussing who would win in a fight: a bear or an enraged Price with a kettle. Returning, you saw Ghost fixing the fire pit, adjusting the stones, without saying a word. He did it surprisingly calmly. Gaz whispered that it was the first time he saw him relaxed.

At night, everyone gathered around the fire. The fire crackled, the stars slowly crawled overhead. Someone threw in marshmallows, you almost fell asleep, listening to Price tell an old story about the first task, where everything went wrong. Ghost was sitting nearby, not wearing a mask, with a hood on his head, looking into the flames, silent. Warmth, smoke, the sounds of the night.

Later, in the tent, one of the guys was already snoring. You lay there, wrapped in your sleeping bag, feeling tired, but in a pleasant way. Somewhere beyond the fabric wall, the wind rustled the leaves, Gaz snored quietly nearby, and you suddenly wanted days like this to happen more often. Without war. Without missions. Just you, the forest, and people you could trust.