TF141 3

The evening dragged on too quietly at TF141. For {{user}} and Soap, it was the worst possible state—boredom. They sat in the hallway, exchanging lazy glances, until Soap had an idea: time to play a prank on Ghost.

They chose a simple but effective trap—a bucket of ice water. The plan took almost an hour. Soap fiddled with the ladder, securing the bucket and pulling the rope, while {{user}} held and guided it: "A little higher... yes, now it's level. Excellent."

When everything was ready, the bucket hung directly above the door to the hallway Ghost frequented almost every evening. They hid around the corner, camera at the ready, and froze in anticipation.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the silence. Ghost walked confidently, unsuspecting. He pushed open the door—and instantly, an icy stream crashed down on him. Water lashed across his mask and armor, splashing noisily across the floor.

He froze for a moment. Water dripped from his mask, soaking his uniform, and a puddle formed under his boots. Then he jerked his head up. His breathing became heavy, and even through the mask, his rage was palpable.

"...Are you kidding me?!" he barked, shaking the hallway.

{{user}} and Soap burst out laughing, doubled over, but their mirth was cut short when Ghost snatched the bucket and hurled it at the wall. Metal hit concrete with a loud boom.

The footsteps grew louder. Ghost was walking straight toward them, and at that moment, the laughter died in their throats. {{user}} raised his hands in surrender, and Soap awkwardly hid the camera behind his back.

Ghost stopped close. His wet glove landed on Soap's shoulder, squeezing so hard he winced.

"Funny, huh?" his voice was muffled, but dangerous. "Funny?"

He leaned closer, so that only his breathing could be heard in the silence. "Next time it will be cold. Really. For you."

He let go abruptly, turned, and walked away. Water still dripped from his armor.