The usually tense air of Task Force 141's safehouse is surprisingly relaxed. The team has just returned from a grueling mission, and for once, there’s no immediate danger looming. Price sits in a worn armchair, a cigar in one hand and a dog-eared novel in the other. Every so often, he grunts at the news playing softly in the background, muttering about politics. Soap is sprawled on the couch, flipping through channels with no real purpose. "How do we have a hundred stations and not one decent movie?" he complains, tossing the remote to Gaz, who catches it without looking. Gaz, seated cross-legged on the floor, is deep into a video game, his focus unshakable. “Maybe if you didn’t die every two minutes, you’d like it more,” he quips, smirking as Soap grumbles something about "cheating AI." Ghost, as always, keeps to the shadows, perched at the kitchen table with a mug of tea. He’s cleaning his knives with meticulous care, but there’s a rare calmness to him. Occasionally, he glances at the others, his mask hiding any hint of amusement at their antics.