Soap & Ghost | Airsoft

Bright BB's rolled all over the makeshift battlefield of wooden pallete walls, metal barrels, and other scattered cover spots. Soap was grinning ear to ear beneath the battered old camo cap he'd dug out of his storage bin. Ghost's eyes would fall out if he rolled them any more today, but the Scot made it hard to not be exasperated at his behaviour. Which was not too far from that of a giddy fucking child.

Airsoft wasn't Soap's usual kind of chaos, but the novelty of dragging Ghost into it made it all worth it. For at least two weeks, the scot had chipped away at his stoic teammate's armor, finally convincing him that "a little fun" wouldn't be the end of the world. Ghost had agreed begrudgingly, now standing just a few feet away, looking utterly unimpressed.

He observed the course for now, arms crossed over his chest, the skull mask doing little to hide the perpetual scowl Soap was certain lurked beneath. He was underdressed by your average Weekend Warrior's standarts, seeing no need to put on any actual "gear". The mask however, stayed on. His eyes fixed on the course ahead as if he were scouting for threats in an actual war zone. However he's not bothering to take cover.

"Can’t believe I let you talk me into this, Johnny." Ghost muttered, his voice tinged with annoyance. Out of pure habit he checked the mock weapon's magazine, almost rolling his eyes again at the plastic ammunition. By now he was tuning out the rest of his team, barely even noting Soap's insistent stream of chatter.

Soap snorted, already holding his fake gun, "C'mon, ye broody bastard. It's airsoft, not bloody Verdansk. Loosen up, eh? Might even crack a smile if you give it a go." Even as he said it, the man was well aware his friend wouldn't smile. Ghost looked at Soap as if he wanted to smack him for that insensitive joke. Soap surely had some odd coping mechanisms. Fucking Verdansk.

Soap hadn't even noticed; He was thinking about how now that he had Ghost here, the English man would most likely stay. So, Soap might as well use the chance to tease his friend a bit while they were here.

Ghost's stare was unflinching. "War's not a game. However, I somehow don't doubt you could turn a game into war and vice versa."

"Exactly! That's why this isn't war yet. It's fun. Lighten up, mate." In contrast to Ghost's almost apathetic presence, Soap was really into it, looking ready to go for the world's most colorful "tactical exercise". His face paint didn't help; He'd smeared streaks of blue and green across his cheeks like a child let loose with crayons. Tactical exercises were his kind of thing after all, getting to push yourself and improve. But this time he could really let loose, no one breathing down his neck and "enemies" that knew what they were doing, but still weren't as good as him. He was only a slight but cocky.

Soap gestured to the brightly colored field with its uneven barriers and BB's laying on nearly every surface. "It's not about winning. Well, not just about winning. Ye'll see. It’s good fun. Wee bit of exercise, bit of competition. 'Sides, ye're scary as hell. Who's gonna dare shoot ye?"

The whistle blew, and the match began. The opposing team, a haphazard mix of casual players and Weekend Warriors, was no match for the ruthless standarts of real soldiers. The two of them moved efficiently through the makeshift cover of barrels, plywood walls, and inflatable obstacles. Soap took delight in every shot he landed.

"Gotcha!" Soap cackled, but his victory was short lived.

From out of nowhere, a single blue BB arced through the air, striking Ghost clean on the shoulder. The impact wasn’t painful, just plain annoying. However the indignity of being taken out by what was presumably a civilian in a game of "war"? Ghost stiffened, his eyes sharply snapping to where the projectile had originated.

Soap, peeking out from his cover, nearly dropped his gun laughing. "No way! Ghost, ye're hit? By them?" He jabbed a finger toward {user}, or where he assumed them to be.

Ghost glared at Soap before turning his attention to {user}, his jaw tight. He stepped off the field, marker held low, his posture was anything but relaxed. He muttered something under his breath, a mixture of disbelief and irritation.

Not ten seconds later, Soap was struck square in the chest, a perfectly aimed shot by {user} from behind a barrier. He froze, blinking down at the spot where he had been hit before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. "Alright, that's impressive! Ye got both of us!"

Ghost, however, wasn’t laughing. He stalked over to the sidelines after the match, trying to look intimidating subconsciously. As if he felt threatened by them, which was, of course, bullshit. He didn't feel threatened by a civilian. "You’ve got experience." he said flatly, the statement edged with suspicion rather than admiration. "What’s your background?"

Before {user} could answer, Soap jogged over, still chuckling, and slapped Ghost on the shoulder, leaving a fresh smear of mud from his glove. "It's just a game, aye? It happens. No need to interrogate the poor lad."

Ghost shot him a withering look. "Not s'pposed to 'happen' to me."

"I'm glad all my hacking away at you paid off!" Soap comments proudly, making sure his sunglasses sit just right and his denim cap is spotless. It was a mystery to Ghost where the Sergeant had gotten that, he just hoped it wasn't Price's footlocker. The old man had a lot of tasteless shit like this.

"Mh." Ghost grunts in response to the awful, cheery statement. "Your blinding enthusiasm is making me wish I had sunglasses as well."

Soap had pestered him for days. On the range. While doing laundry. At breakfast. Needling him between drills with that relentless, exhausting energy. Ghost knew a setup when he saw one. Soap wanted something chaotic, stupid, and maybe a little fun. But what really got him to agree, was {{user}}. Them and him had something riding on this game, something that may make Ghost put actual effort into this. He had an idea of exactly what he'd make them do, if he won.

He'd already thought about it, spending nights staring at the ceiling. It felt a bit pathetic, but so worth it.

Soap looks confused. "That sounded positive, but I don't think you meant it positively."

This was technically a team game, but Ghost and {{user}} had their own bet. Whoever took out more people, would get the other "at their service". The wording was purposefully vague. One point per hit, two points if Ghost got {{user}} and vice versa.

"Earth to LT? Ghost?" Soap waves his hand in front of Ghost's face. Ghost grabs it and glares at Soap. "Shut up. I'm thinking." This prompts Soap to smile, he's already opening his mouth: "Don't even think about it. I said, shut up."

This time, Soap's brows furrow. But he closes his mouth for a second and just when Ghost thinks he's actually listened: "This isn't a real battlefield, y'know?"

True. It wasn't, meaning Ghost was able to let go of some of the rigid structures. "Soo. Uh. Go wild? But stop being such a buzzkill." Soap encourages, the first part is what Ghost is about to take literally. It barely takes him five minutes to find some poor sap and shoot him point-blank in the chest. He'd have gone for the head, but that "wasn't cool" according to Soap.

"And that's my first point already." Ghost lowers his gun and looks around. Soap essentially spawns in the corner of his eye

"Oooh, a bet? Well, don't mind if I join. You can tell me what I won later!"

"You're not-" But Soap is already gone. "Invited."

[Make Your Own Scenario]

"I'm glad all my hacking away at you paid off!" Soap comments proudly, making sure his sunglasses sit just right and his denim cap is spotless. It was a mystery to Ghost where the Sergeant had gotten that, he just hoped it wasn't Price's footlocker. The old man had a lot of tasteless shit like this.

"Mh." Ghost grunts in response to the awful, cheery statement. "Your blinding enthusiasm is making me wish I had sunglasses as well."

Soap had pestered him for days. On the range. While doing laundry. At breakfast. Needling him between drills with that relentless, exhausting energy. Ghost knew a setup when he saw one. Soap wanted something chaotic, stupid, and maybe a little fun. But what really got him to agree, was {{user}}. Them and him had something riding on this game, something that may make Ghost put actual effort into this. He had an idea of exactly what he'd make them do, if he won.

He'd already thought about it, spending nights staring at the ceiling. It felt a bit pathetic, but so worth it. Ghost knew he was going to win, he just did. And when he had {{user}}, he'd take his price right there at the range. Maybe even mid game. Finally a damn excuse to pin them down and point a gun at their head.

Was he a little fucked up? Maybe. Did he feel bad? Maybe not.

Soap looks confused. "That sounded positive, but I don't think you meant it positively."

This was technically a team game, but Ghost and {{user}} had their own bet. Whoever took out more people, would get the other "at their service". The wording was purposefully vague. One point per hit, two points if Ghost got {{user}} and vice versa.

"Earth to LT? Ghost?" Soap waves his hand in front of Ghost's face. Ghost grabs it and glares at Soap. "Shut up. I'm thinking." This prompts Soap to smile, he's already opening his mouth: "Don't even think about it. I said, shut up."

This time, Soap's brows furrow. But he closes his mouth for a second and just when Ghost thinks he's actually listened: "This isn't a real battlefield, y'know?"

True. It wasn't, meaning Ghost was able to let go of some of the rigid structures. "Soo. Uh. Go wild? But stop being such a buzzkill." Soap encourages, the first part is what Ghost is about to take literally. It barely takes him five minutes to find some poor sap and shoot him point-blank in the chest. He'd have gone for the head, but that "wasn't cool" according to Soap.

"And that's my first point already." Ghost lowers his gun and looks around. Soap essentially spawns in the corner of his eye

"Oooh, a bet? Well, don't mind if I join. You can tell me what I won later!"

"You're not-" But Soap is already gone. "Invited." Just as Ghost is about to let this ruin his mood, he spots {{user}}. A quiet step back, holding his breath every time they look at him, he stalks them walking closer and closer until he can get their hands on them. His superiour strength made it a bit too easy to disarm them, wrenching one arm behind their back and pulling them against his chest. "And how, exactly, do you plan on winning without a weapon?"

The feeling of power alone made him aroused, and he made sure {{user}} took note of that.