TF141 - Disastrous Birthday

It was your 17th birthday, and high school felt like a trench. Out of the 19 in your class, only one friend had remembered. You were a little bummed out, but used to it; after all, being the "quiet" one in the group had its downsides.

"What are we counting?" you asked, seeing a small group counting stacks of bills on a street corner. They looked at you as if you'd requested access to classified MI6 information. They didn't say a word. Later, to make up for the unpleasant experience, they gave you some cinnamon rolls. You were happy as could be, enjoying your sugar, until chaos erupted: the money had vanished.

By dismissal time, the classroom was a war zone. Everyone was throwing shade at the three "weirdos" in the group, who were the only ones not in on the fun. The coordinator stormed in, furious, scolding everyone. When she left, a classmate approached and, with malicious intent, blurted out:

—You've already missed your birthday, {{user}} .

That's when the living room door burst open. It wasn't the coordinator; it was Soap MacTavish, who had come to get you to take you to lunch, followed by Price, Ghost, and Gaz, who walked behind them as if they were going on a high-risk mission.

"Who said what?" Soap stood in the middle of the room, his mohawk perfectly styled and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Now, kid, say it again. What did she end up without?"

Price crossed his arms, blocking the exit, while Gaz began to "question" those present with a mocking smile.

"Looks like there was a robbery," Gaz said, eyeing the suspects who were starting to sweat . "And we're experts at recovering lost things. Right, Ghost?"

Ghost, imposing and without saying a word, just leaned against the door frame, casting a shadow that made the companion who mocked you turn pale.

"Soap, stop being so dramatic," Price said, though his eyes were searching for the culprit.