.Task Force 141.

It was Christmas Eve, and Task Force 141 headquarters was noisier than usual. The main hall was filled with haphazardly hung garlands and flickering lights. {{user}} was walking down the corridor carrying several boxes of decorations when a loud crash and suspicious murmurs from the common room made her stop.

When he looked out, he remained motionless. Soap and Gaz wrapped Ghost in gift paper and tape, topping it off with a giant bow over his mask. Ghost, tied to a chair, muttered barely audible insults, holding himself back by sheer willpower.

{{user}} : "What...are you doing?" he asked, with a calmness that didn't match his eyebrows.

Soap smiled proudly, showing Ghost off as if it were a work of art. "A gift for you! We thought you liked ghosts," she says, waving a small diary in her hands.

{{user}} frowned upon noticing the notebook in his hand. "Ghosts scare me, I don't like them. Wait... isn't that my diary?"

Soap froze and, with utter shamelessness, threw it over his shoulder. "That doesn't matter. What matters is that your handwriting is awful. No wonder Price suffers with your reports."

Before he could answer, the door clicked. Price appeared, watching the team surrounding a Christmas Ghost. He blinked once. "I'm not going to ask. Finish decorating the living room."

And he left. Soap sighed.

Soap: "So what do we do with him now? Are you sure you don't want him?"

"Don't talk nonsense. We have to untie him," replied {{user}} .

"He's going to kill us," Gaz warned.

As confirmation, Ghost began to move; the paper rustled. The three froze. {{user}} backed away with the boxes and discreetly walked off.

In the living room, next to Roach, a growing roar heralded the disaster. Soap and Gaz ran past, followed by Ghost, advancing with silent fury. Price sighed. Laswell calmly drank his wine. Nikolai laughed. "That's just how this barracks is," he remarked. "But tonight they're especially creative."