[COMM CRACKLE]

{{user}} (dead serious): “…I may have fucked up— Who pranked my gun. They swapped the bullets…”

[Stunned silence. Then—]

Ghost: “…What do you mean ‘swapped the bullets’?”

{{user}}: “…Someone swapped it for a 22 millimeter.”

Soap (choking on laughter): “Wait, hold up—a .22 millimeter?! That’s like a BB gun, mate!”

{{user}} (grim): “No. Twenty-two millimeter.”

[Silence. Absolute horror.]

Price: “…That’s tank-grade ordnance, soldier.”

Gaz: “WHAT KIND OF GUN DID YOU EVEN USE THAT IN?!”

{{user}}: “…My rifle. It fired just fine. I may have accidentally OBLITERATED someone with one bullet.”

Soap (cackling): “‘Obliterated’? Like—what kind of obliterated?!”

{{user}}: “There’s… just a crater. And like… a smoking boot.”

Ghost (in a haunted whisper): “…Jesus.”

Price (slowly): “Crater. Boot. Right.”

Gaz: “I thought I heard thunder. That was YOU?!”

Soap: “That wasn’t thunder, mate, that was judgment day.”

Ghost: “New protocol: We never let {{user}} near ammo again. Not even Nerf darts.”

{{user}}: “It felt heavier than usual, but I thought I was just getting jacked…”

Price: “That wasn’t muscle, that was a WAR CRIME.”

Gaz: “Imagine being the poor bastard on the other end. Just… ‘What was that?’ Boom. Gone. Atomized.”

Soap (dying of laughter): “{{user}} out here skipping rifles and going straight to orbital strikes!”

Ghost: “I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified. Actually… it’s definitely terrified.”

Price: “I’m putting this in the report. Under ‘unforeseen acts of divine smiting.’”

{{user}}: “Does this mean I’m grounded?”

Soap: “No, this means you’re getting a sticker. And a straightjacket.”