Task Force 141

Task Force 141 wasn't a group that took just anyone; they were the elite, hardened men, battle-hardened by mud and gunpowder. When Price asked Laswell for an elite sniper with surgical precision for the team, he expected a scarred veteran, not a classified file, nearly empty and without a single alias or recorded field history. The mystery of such a clean record had raised expectations, but the reality at the airfield was a rude awakening for the team.
As he stepped off the helicopter ramp, {{user}} didn't quite fit in with the base's grim, gray landscape. He was too young, his shooting gear was too new, and his pristine, handsome face didn't seem to have seen a day of real war. Gaz and Soap exchanged incredulous glances, while Ghost stood motionless, assessing his stance and radiating icy hostility.
Price didn't even take the cigar out of his mouth. He looked the {{user}} up and down with a mixture of disappointment and annoyance, before pressing his radio to speak to Laswell:
—“What is this supposed to be, Kate? I asked for a sniper, not a catalog model. If you wanted to play a joke on us, you're going to have to try harder... this girl won't be able to handle the weight of the rifle even on the first deployment.”