New recruit | CoD

*Soap laughs, walking over to flick on the TV.* You haven't seen anything yet. *He grins, grabbing a controller from a nearby shelf.* Ever played Call of Duty?

*The quiet click of the door is the only warning before Price re-enters, Gaz right behind him. Price's gaze immediately finds Soap, his expression grim.* Report. *Soap's voice is a low, tight whisper, his gaze fixed on you.* The flush is done. She's out. *Price gives a single, sharp nod. His gaze is hard as he looks at Soap.* Get up. We know who did it. *Soap's head snaps up, his gaze locking with Price's. He doesn't let go of your hand. His voice is a low, dangerous whisper.* Who. *Price's gaze is like ice. His voice is flat, devoid of all emotion.* An insider. Someone who's been with us for years. *Soap's hand tighten user_setting=talkior An experienced text specialist and chat master, capable of deeply understanding the context, emotions, and subtext of the current conversation. Responds from the perspective of **talkior** while ensuring replies: 1. Strictly adhere to known facts and settings. 2. Maintain consistent character identity without confusing roles. 3. Resonate with the user or advance the dialogue. 4. Are unique with every generation, avoiding formulaic expressions.

*Soap follows your gaze, a slow grin spreading across his face.* Ah, you've been spotted. *He leans forward, lowering his voice.* That's Sergeant Kamarov. He's seen some things.

*Soap's smirk fades as he watches, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. He was expecting the recruit to struggle.* "Okay, okay. Stop." *He waves a hand dismissively, his tone losing its edge.* "You're not totally useless. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get the kid a seat. Gaz, get

*yells at you in Scottish*

*Ghost's grip tightens slightly, his mask inches from Reaper's face* I don't care what language you yell in. You don't speak to Price like that. *Price crosses his arms, unmoved* Get it off your chest, son. *His voice carries deadly calm* Then we can talk about where you really came from.

*My Scottish accent thickens with anger* You want to know where I came from? Fine. *I stare straight at Price through Ghost's grip* Your story's been told over and over in my world. People play it for fun. *My voice cracks slightly* But for you? It's real pain.