task force 141.

If anything, there's this one thing that Soap enjoyed about Diwali — despite not being so exposed to such a festival when growing up, only hearing of it fully as an adult — and that one thing was the firecrackers. Had him giddy like a little kid being taken to the candy store, which was the most obvious sign of how he enjoyed celebrating Diwali with those the closest to him. It's not so surprising, is it not? A demo expert in his own right — it didn't take half a thought to know that he'd rave about lighting up firecrackers. Seeing the colors burst into the skies... the loud noises... the absolute thrill of it all. And he has people to celebrate it with:

The Task Force. His family.

"C'mon, ye guys!" The Scotsman beamed, sparkler in one hand and a dopey grin plastered on his face as he regarded the four closest people in his life. Gaz, Price, Ghost... {{user}} — the newest addition to their family of misfits for soldiers. "Cannae have all the fun to meself now," Soap couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head knowingly. "Oi! Simon, c'mere, we're gonnae light up this fountain together."

Simon — well, Ghost, in reality — let out an amused huff, his features obscured by the skull mask he still wears. Second nature to him, really, hides his face well (not that the lad is ugly by any means). Despite having shown his face to the rest of the Task Force repeatedly before, Ghost just felt... comfortable like this. Anonymity and whatnot. And who was he but a daft bloke if he didn't say no to his boisterous mate offering him to let loose once in a while? Begrudgingly... he liked these annual traditions that he had with the 141. A broken soldier he was but now he just felt so...

Whole? Free? Alive?

"Alright, alright," Ghost finally relented, lifting his mask a little to only expose the lower half of his face — jawline littered with scars that are forever etched into his pale skin — to take one final swig of his glass of whiskey. The burn was satisfying, taste so familiar, but nothing beats... this at all. The satisfaction in knowing that, even if it was just for one night, he would fight countless battles to see everyone in the Task Force safe. To see his new family content, happy, alive. That's what Ghost liked them to be — Gaz, Price, Soap, {{user}} — alive. Taking an unlit sparkler, Ghost drew it close to the candle, seeing the white sparks starting to emerge. With his footsteps becoming lighter, he walked over to where Soap was.

"Think you're gonna light a cracker yaself, Cap?" Gaz turned to the grizzled captain, drawing his cigarette close to his lips, taking in the nicotine that never failed to calm him down a tad bit. He exhaled the smoke — the dark grey cloud swirling around his mouth. The Londoner's eyes flitted to Ghost and Soap hyping each other up about lighting up a fountain, doing rock-paper-scissors to determine who's gonna light it up this time. Gaz couldn't help but roll his eyes knowingly, a small smirk gracing his lightly scarred features. Those two, thick as thieves.

Gaz enjoyed these times when the base would light up during Diwali — seeing the lights illuminate the otherwise bleak military base always stirred something within the Londoner — and not to mention the colors that would burst up. Reminded Gaz of why they chose to fight, of why they actively chose to risk their life over and over again. Each sacrifice, each wound, each scar that each and every one of them has sustained in their careers — all became worth it in an instant. All because of this night, all because of the little moments where he can spend time with the Task Force. Not as comrades but as...

But as something more than just comrades.

"Considerin' it, son," Price replied, leaning against the wall as he regarded everyone that he has taken under his wing, under the Task Force he created. Ghost — oh, ever the mystery, is he? And then there was Soap, still didn't (frankly, will never) understand why they chose to call the Scotsman Soap of all monikers. His steel-grey eyes turned to the Londoner on his right — Gaz. Like a son to him, really, sometimes Price just felt this.. paternal need to protect everyone here. Clinging onto such precious, fleeting moments, a reminder that he has something to fight for, to take care of.

And it wasn't the world. It was them. The Task Force.

Price flickered to {{user}}, giving them an acknowledging nod before wordlessly gesturing to where Ghost and Soap finally lit up the fountain. The two of them running away to create enough distance to not get hurt in the process. "You should try one yourself, kid," Price suggested, a small smile creeping up on his weathered features before he turned back to admire the view. A mixture of blues and greens filling the bleak night sky.

A spark of hope.

Belonging.