You and the TF141 were an odd team, always getting yourselves into trouble or doing things to cure that inner child. During your day off with them, instead of relaxing like normal soldiers, Soap and Gaz had other plans.

You focused your gaze to the sky, sighing. “What are these idiots doing?”

The pair was seen incorrectly hang gliding with Gaz straplessly dangling from Soap’s pants that progressively slid down, exposing the Scottish buns to the world.

“Awh God, Johnny doesn’t have any underwear on!” Ghost looked away while Price snorted, lifting his phone. “Like a pickle in the wind.”