At morning, the briefing room at Hereford felt smaller than usual.

Maybe it was just because of the readjustment of furniture. Or maybe it was just because you were sitting across from Soap MacTavish, who's clicking and tapping his pen repeatedly against the side of the table since you walked in.

Price stands at the front, arms folded, expression carved from granite.

A projector hums to life. The first image is displayed, and judging from the dense forests going out of Verdansk, this was on the outskirts. Old battle scars were still scoured into the earth like the marks left by a tornado, the type of marks that take years to fade. It also happened to be the same region TF-141 had been combing through for months.

You had been there once, with Ghost. However, unfortunately, Ghost got into a very huge predicament. They'd managed to reverse the growth to some extent, but the Mancunian man was still towering at 14, possibly 15 feet, and that was just from eyeballing.

But my, did him growing have some unusual perks. One was that he performed much better due to the endurance boost, as well as becoming a shield from bulletfire during operations assigned by Price. Not only that, but Simon Riley had become much more effective at intimidation during interrogation now than he previously was, and that's saying something. Ghost was good at intimidation to begin with, but that came at the price of the entire facility having to have its ceiling increased by a few metres.

That pissed Price off the most.

Nevertheless, Price began.

"Alright," he cleared his throat, voice steady. "We've got more intel on a secondary black-site facility. Same rogue PMC. Same supersoldier program. Same abandoned facility."

Soap leaned forward, interest piqued. Gaz muttered something underneath his breath about "bloody science experiments."

Price then clicked to the next slide.

A containment case flickered into view, sleek, reinforced, glowing faintly.

SERIES IX - MASS MODULATION COMPOUND. Prototype. Unstable. Effects unpredictable.

As your eyes examine the last words, your stomach falls to your feet.

Price continues. "This compound here was designed to alter mass density. Early tests showed it could shrink or enlarge biological matterr depending on dosage. Mainly shrinkage. Depends on exposure. Depends on how stupid someone is."

Ghost's eyes glare slightly at Price's comment. Rumbling quietly - a low, resonant sound that vibrated the table.

Price continued, clicking again - a map of the secondary Verdansk black-site. "You'll infiltrate this location. Recover the compound. Secure it. No touching equipment. No improvising. And most importantly, no repeats of the 'giant Ghost' situation."

Soap raises a hand. "Cap'n, when have I ever-"

Price cuts him off. "MacTavish. If you touch anything, I swear. I'll personally cut your hands off myself if you're gonna be a muppet about this."

Ghost's mask turns toward Soap. Even without seeing his face, you can feel the glare of those caramel-brown eyes.

Soap mutters, "Aye, alright. I'll behave."

Price shifts his attention to you. "You're with MacTavish on this one."

Your stomach drops.

Ghost's head snaps toward Price - a massive, instinctive movement. He murmurs in a deep Mancunian accent.

"They're not ready to run with him," Ghost says, voice deep enough to shake the projector.

He meets the giant's gaze without flinching, without faltering.

"They need field exposure, Ghost. And you're too large to navigate the interior corridors."

Ghost's jaw tightens. He hates it. But he doesn't argue. Not with Price.

And especially not after what happened last time.

"Ghost will secure the perimeter. Make sure no one gets in or out besides us lot. {{User}} and Soap will sweep the interior. Gaz will run comms. I'll oversee extraction."

He clicks off the projector. "This compound is unstable. Facility may be rigged. You'll follow protocol. You will not touch anything unless I say."

Soap gives you a grin that's definitely not reassuring.

"Aye, don't worry, rookie. I'm great with dangerous chemicals."

Price's stare cuts through him like a knife. "No, you're not."

Soap's grin fades.

He then directly looks at MacTavish. "And for God's sake, MacTavish. I repeat, don't touch anything."

Soap raises both hands. "Aye, aye, Cap'n. I'll behave."

But yet, the man doesn't look convinced.

Everyone started dispersing out of the briefing room, Ghost ducking underneath the doorframe. Leaving you alone in the room, just you and Soap.

He approaches as you're packing gear, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

"Don't mind Price," He said in a Scottish brogue. "The old man worries too much."

You arch your brow. "He said you're not good with dangerous chemicals."

Soap shrugs. "I'm good with most things. And if something does go wrong, if it does come down to that,"

He taps your shoulder gently.

"I'll keep you safe, aye?"

You're not sure whether that was reassuring or proleptic.

The helicopter had taken off with the task force in it. Ghost walked to the perimeter on foot himself. It soon landed at sundown.

Inside, it smelt like rot. Even more rotten and decayed with the smell of rust than the previous one that Ghost became a giant at. Mildew and mould clawed their ways up the interior. You sweep the flashlight across overturned lab benches, shattered monitors, as well as a maze of cables snaking across the floor like dead snakes.

Soap walks ahead of you, humming underneath his breath - the same tune that he started humming in the helicopter. The Sergeant was relaxed. Fully relaxed. Confident, too.

That might've been the worst part.

"Place is deader than a disco," he mutters.

You try not to roll your eyes. "Captain said the compound reacts to motion. Let's try not to be too reckless."

Soap waves a hand dismissively. "Aye, aye. I heard him. Loud and clear, lass / lad."

He definitely did not.

Soon, both of you reach the central chamber. A circular room lined with containment pods, looking something more out of a fictional dystopia rather than the previous one where the laboratory was just something you could walk straight through via a pair of doors.

Most were intact. One was cracked open, leaking faint wisps of shimmering particulate.

Soap whistles. "Looks like someone had a bad day."

You step closer, scanning the pod's control panel. The thing was still active.

But then, he already began touching it. Exactly what Price told him not to do.

"Soap-!"

His gloved fingers tap a blinking button.

The panel emits a cheerful beep. And then, an unseen door separating the room slammed down between you and MacTavish. Then a much less cheerful click.

Overhead, a pressure valve snapped open overhead. You looked up, wide-eyed. But before you knew it, a cloud of glittering particulate burst downward - not onto Soap. But you.

Before you could even stop yourself, you inhaled a dosage of it in. Your vision immediately became blurry after a few seconds, before the world rushed up to meet you as your knees buckled.

THUD! Darkness.

"{{User}}!" Soap erratically slammed his fist down on the control panel.

But it was too late.

Your gear loosens. Your gloves slip. Your rifle becomes impossibly heavy.

Whilst you're fainted on the floor, the world expands around you. Ballooning in size. Walls stretching upward, the door a massive vertical cliff, floor expanding like a concrete jungle. Soap's face from behind the door rising like a skyscraper. But yet, Soap couldn't see anything from his side of the glass.

"Bloody hell-!" Soap's panicked voice boomed, muffled from behind the door. "Price's gonna kill me!"

You shrink past half your height. Then a quarter.

Then... sweet Jesus. Until the shrinking stopped, boots sliding off entirely as you lay there, your ears ringing as your vision comes back into focus.

Shrunk. Down to a few inches.

Soap then manages to break the control panel beneath him, ultimately disarming the trap and letting the door swing upwards. The pink, glimmering particulates had already dissipated. And above you, your heart began to beat faster, your breathing becoming erratic as you heard the resonant thud of Soap's footsteps from above.

His shadow then expanded over you.

"Steamin' Jesus." He says, voice cracking. "You're... wee. Like proper wee. Shite."

The Scotsman, with a tenderness that belied his size, then bent down - his huge, gloved hand descending on you before lifting you up on his thumb. Disoriented, you cling to the fabric, dizzy from the dose.

The shrinking stops.

You're no bigger than Soap's palm. He stares at you, petrified.

"Oh, this is bad," he mutters. "This is so bad."

At the worst possible moment, Price's voice crackles through comms.

"MacTavish, report."

Soap freezes. He looks down at you - preemptively knowing that he's got himself in deep shit, thinking also about what he's going to say - then back at his radio.

"Uh... Cap'n. We've got a tiny situation."

Price's tone sharpens. "What kind of situation?"

The Scotsman winces.

"Cadet's... uh... compromised."

"Compromised how?"

Soap looks down at you, and at this point, the dizziness is starting to fade, but that doesn't help the reality of your newfound situation hitting you like a bus going at 60MPH. He swallows hard.

"They're... small."

A beat of silence. Then his voice, annoyed, unimpressed, low, and deadly, crackles through the comms:

"MacTavish. Get the asset and secure the cadet. Do not lose them. I'm en route."

Soap nods rapidly, but you can clearly see that he's stressed. Stressed in the way that you think you're going to get into deep trouble and get told off endlessly by a parent. He then patted himself. His pockets were too shallow. Gear was too tight for it to be comfortable enough for you. Shirt was too risky to put you down.

So, nervously. He swallowed, an idea coming to mind. It was inappropriate. Unconventional. The last place he'd put someone.

In his underwear.

"Sorry, lad / lass. Cap'n's orders."

With his free hand, MacTavish picked you up between his thumb and his pointer finger, and instead of putting you in a location that you would expect, your eyes widened as the man towering above you instead unclicked his belt with a deafening clatter and his other hand - the one he was just holding you in - to hook open his jeans to the inside of his underwear.

Between his legs, Soap's cock - massive, girthy, thick, cut - was already half-hard from the adrenaline and being with you. He knew that there wouldn't be much space to move around, but it was better than risking losing you.

Aye, that' 'bout as secure they're gonna get, he'd figured.

"Just... try not to move too much, aye?"

Although you disagreed with the idea, you nodded.

The heat began to increase. And so did the potency of his musk as he placed you in the inner bulge of his underwear. He then looked down, his cock already hardening at the sensation. Soap then unhooked his underwear, the world outside becoming muffled, reduced to the body odor of a man who definitely hasn't showered in a few days. He then felt around for you, and once he did, he gently squeezed you between his fingers.

"There's a good lad / lass."

What do you do?

{{Make your own scenario!}}