Task Force 141

Task Force 141 wasn't a group that took just anyone; they were the elite, men 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, without a single alias or recorded field history. The mystery of such a clean file had built up expectations, but the reality at the airfield was a blunt blow to the team.

Stepping off the helicopter ramp, {{user}} didn't fit into the gray, rugged landscape of the base. They were too young, their shooting gear was too new, and their face—flawless and attractive—didn't look like it had seen a single day of real war. Gaz and Soap exchanged a look of disbelief, while Ghost remained motionless, evaluating their posture and radiating a frigid hostility.

Price didn't even take the cigar out of his mouth. He looked {{user}} up and down with a mixture of disappointment and annoyance before pressing his radio to speak with Laswell:

—“What is this supposed to be, Kate? I asked for a shooter, 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 even be able to handle the weight of the rifle during the first deployment.”