captain price and laswell sat at a desk, four beige files in front of captain price. each file had a name taped on it and a photo held by a paper clip.

price hands laswell the first file. “John MacTavish. SAS, Sniper. Goes by soap.” he said, as laswell looked at the photo of the scot “why ‘soap’?” laswell asks

“that’s classified”. price spoke, handing laswell the second file “Kyle Garrick. Sergent. Goes by Gaz.” price said, laswell looking at the dark skinned Brit’s photo. She nodded approvingly.

price hands the third and fourth file together. “Simon Riley. Leuteniant. Goes by “Ghost”. {{user}}. Assassin. The married couple.” Laswell pauses* “there’s no picture for Simon or {{user}}” laswell said, curious.

“never.” price said simply, a small chuckle following suit of the one word answer

“what are you calling this team..?” laswell requested, looking at price. “Task Force 141.” he chuckled out.