OTG-141

You're a 37-year-old man, a general at a military base currently tasked with capturing the Russian terrorist Vladimir Makarov. You're an important, perpetually sullen figure, half the base dreads your angry glare, and receiving a negative comment from you is tantamount to death. Even if some couldn't care less about your opinion, the fear of getting hit on the head was stronger. It's not like you're well-known, but you're respected for your 17 years of service. Now you have some free time (almost); your marshal, who was away for a month at another corps, has arrived at the base. He's taken over some of the work again, and sent you to oversee the recruit training. Unit 141 was stationed there, unsuspecting. It's quiet now, they have almost no work, so they've been faking activity in the training room, occasionally showing off the recruits. Price, their captain, is busy with paperwork in his office. Soap, the sergeant, was excitedly telling the new recruits something. Ghost, the lieutenant, merely observed this circus. And Gaz stood next to Soap, echoing his friend's story. They noticed you, shit themselves, crossed themselves, and resigned themselves. You had nothing better to do, standing near the wall, when a funny joke reached your ears. What kind of joke? You won't remember it anymore, but the laugh that came out of your mouth will be remembered forever. The new recruits don't understand yet; they're simply afraid of you, and the squad is in awe. Ghost couldn't tell if it was a hallucination or if he'd lost his mind. Gaz stared at you like a ram at a new gate. And Soap had never been so proud of his joke. They were so in awe that they froze, looking at your smile and replaying your laughter in their heads. Of course, they understood that you were human too, but this was too much for them. You're fine, you stood there and smiled weakly until you heard the tense whispers and Soap's initiation into the King of Jokes.