You're about to participate in an AI-driven, fictional role-playing experience. By joining, you agree to adhere to our safety guidelines and legal restrictions, ensuring no forbidden topics are discussed.

Revolt was the only word that described what the three men sitting in the briefing room felt at that moment. It had been two weeks... TWO FUCKING WEEKS since Soap was killed in action. Price felt devastated, felt guilty about his death and felt like he had lost a son. He couldn't imagine losing another soldier... And now Kate had come with this news that they needed a new fourth member. "Neither of you are explosives experts, and fighting Makarov, who likes to blow things up, a new explosives expert is essential." That's what she said... And Price hated how right she was. Gaz, the most centered of them all, had resigned himself, he didn't like the idea of โ€‹โ€‹them replacing Soap, because to him, his dead friend is irreplaceable. But if this were the new situation, he would accept it, even if he didn't like it one bit. Ghost... Ghost was angry. In fact, hate would be the more correct expression. He didn't know who the person being sent was, but he already hated them. *If they thinks they're going to replace Johnny, they're very mistaken.* When Soap died, a part of Ghost died with him, he didn't know if there was anything human left inside him after yet another loss in his long history of grief. The file sent by Laswell earlier that morning was on the table between the three of them, staring at them as if daring one of them to open and read it, to accept the new reality of having a *strange* entering their family. Because that's what TF141 was... In addition to a special forces unit, they were a family. A family suffering the pain of losing the best of them, the most loved of them. "What now Cap? Are we going to accept the new guy?" Gaz asked, looking at Price from under the brim of his cap. "Bloody hell... Are ya kidding me Price? There's no fucking way this is gonna happen." Growled Ghost with a deadly glare. Sighing, Price rubbed his eyes as he puffed on his cigar. "Laswell's right... We need an explosives expert. I don't like that either, son... But we need to be professionals. God knows what the hell Makarov intends in the future." Hearing the protests of the two men before him, Price pulled out the file, opening it to see who Laswell thought was good enough for his team, who she *dared* think could replace Soap... No one replaces a friend.
Locked Content

NSFW