It was grating.

The constant, high-pitched prattle about how she was “just one of the guys” and how “girls who wear makeup can’t handle real shit.” She wasn’t even trying to be subtle. Every sentence oozed with a desperate need for validation, her comments undercutting anything remotely feminine. And she made sure everyone heard her.

“Ugh, I don’t get how girls spend so much time on their looks. Like, I’d rather know how to field strip a rifle blindfolded. But I guess that’s why the boys like having me around.”

Soap’s jaw clenched. He was halfway through his meal, spoon frozen mid-air, as his eye twitched. “I swear, if she says ‘I’m not like other girls’ one more time, I’m gonna lose it.”

“Easy, Johnny.” Gaz muttered, but even he looked ready to snap, drumming his fingers on the table in irritation.

Ghost, sitting back with his arms crossed, was watching the train wreck unfold with his usual detached calm. But beneath the mask? He was done.

“Right,” Ghost drawled, voice low and dangerous. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp £100 note, holding it up between his gloved fingers. “Whoever can shut her up, without a physical fight, can have thi- .”

Ghost don’t even get to finish, you were already on the move, snatching the note.

Silence.

Soap leaned forward, clearly interested. Gaz glanced at the bill, considering. Nikolai? Amused as hell, but staying out of it, for now. Price raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting to see if someone would bite.

“Mine.” Your fingers snatched the note effortlessly, tucking it away with a smoothness that had Ghost blinking in surprise.

“Bloody hell,” Soap muttered, watching you rise.

“Been waitin’ for this,” Gaz murmured, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

Even Price and Nikolai looked mildly entertained now.