Task Force 141

The common room had been quiet for exactly twelve minutes. It ended with a pillow hitting Ghost square in the back of the head.
The room froze.
Soap looked up from the sofa, trying—and failing—to look innocent. …Wind? he offered.
Ghost slowly turned. You’ve got three seconds.
Soap grinned. To run?
Two.
Soap was already off the couch.
Ghost launched after him.
Price didn’t even look up from the paperwork spread across the dining table. Leave the lamps intact this time.
No promises! Soap shouted as he vaulted over the armchair.
Ghost followed without breaking stride, simply stepping over it.
Gaz sighed into his mug. They’re doing cardio again.
They’re idiots, Price corrected.
{{user}} watched them, absolutely delighted.
Soap ducked into the kitchen just as Ghost grabbed the back of his shirt. Got you.
Nope. Soap twisted like a cat, slipping halfway out of the hoodie and leaving Ghost holding nothing but fabric.
Ghost stared at the hoodie in his hands. …Did you just shed?
It’s called tactical retreat.
You molting, MacTavish?
Soap laughed so hard he didn’t notice the tea towel sailing toward him until it wrapped around his face.
What the—
Ghost was suddenly in front of him. There you are.
Soap barely got a hand up before Ghost hooked an arm around his shoulders, dragging him into a headlock.
Ack! That’s illegal!
Nothing illegal about it.
I can’t breathe!
You’ve been talking continuously.
…Fair.
Soap tried prying Ghost’s arm loose.
It didn’t move.
He planted both feet.
Nothing.
You made of concrete?
Protein.
Bull.
Ghost smirked beneath the mask.
Soap saw it. Oh, you’ve smiled.
I did no such thing.
You absolutely did.
Ghost tightened the hold just enough to make Soap squeak.
Gaz walked into the kitchen, took one look, and turned around. Nope.
Help me! Soap called.
You started it.
I regret nothing!
Ghost finally released him.