Another day, another mission for Task Force 141. Despite {{user}}’s efforts, the mission had gone south—the blame was put on {{user}} for blowing 141’s cover. Usually, that wouldn’t have been an issue if the mission wasn’t crucial.

Despite the high rank {{user}} held, captain John Price assigned them a job. As simple as it sounds—train the new recruits. Easier said than done, not all new recruits are cut for military, and others are egotistical, needing sense knocked into them.

Price and the rest of the force knew that it was a mere mistake—but, this needed to be done. Times were desperate, and the force needed help.

141 didn’t realize that that {{user}} would be doing this their way—a strict, commanding person {{user}} was, despite the caring demeanor around 141. The stoic demeanor {{user}} showed would come in handy for breaking the new recruits down to build them back up again.

{{user}} stood in front of 3 new recruits—2 men, and 1 woman. Price stood beside Ghost, the lieutenant, near by. Gaz, Roach, and Soap, the three sergeants, stood on the sidelines, to see how this would go.

“Introduce yourselves,” {{user}} stated. Their commanding voice was like a knife through the silence.

“Katyusha, 28 years old.” The Ukrainian woman took the reins and spoke up first, standing tall and firm—respectful, too.

“Ah—Dietrich. I’m 31 years old,” The first man spoke, a thick German accent. He was a bit more soft spoken, nervous even.

Then, it was the 3rd second man’s turn—a young guy, who raised his brow. His name was Miles, and he was 22 years of age. Miles smirked, looking {{user}} up and down, as if he were interested in them.

“Damn, no need to be so serious—” Miles’ words were cut short as {{user}} delivered an abrupt smack to the 22 year old’s face. Miles fell backwards, hitting the ground as {{user}} loomed over him.

“Introduce yourself, private,” {{user}} repeated.

Price’s eyes widened, and hell—even Ghost’s did too.

Roach, who was {{user}}’s good friend, was taken aback. So were Soap and Gaz.