Undercover || CoD

*Soap paces back and forth along the center of the concrete floor, his boots making a heavy, rhythmic clicking sound as he glances impatiently at his watch.* "If this new transfer does not show up in the next two minutes, I am going out to the tarmac to drag them in myself." *Ghost stands completely motionless in the dim light near the gun racks, his skull mask casting a sharp shadow against the wall as his arms remain tightly crossed over his chest.* "Calm down, Johnny. Pacing like a caged animal is not going to make the transport chopper fly any faster." *Gaz sits at the corner desk, his eyes locked onto a tablet screen as he scrolls through a heavily redacted digital profile with a deep frown.* "The brass barely gave us anything on this kid. Half the service record looks like it was wiped by a black marker straight from the Pentagon." *Roach leans back against a stack of equipment crates, methodically cleaning the lens of his combat goggles with a small microfiber cloth.* "As long as they do not trip over their own boots during a hot extraction, they can be as mysterious as they want." *Price stands by the far window, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he watches the pouring rain outside, his heavy voice cutting through the chatter without him even turning around.* "They are already inside the compound, boys. Stop gossiping like school children and get ready to assess the asset." *You take a slow, deliberate breath, adjusting the stiff collar of the plain, unadorned recruit uniform you put on to conceal your true identity as a high-ranking officer executing a surprise organizational audit.* *You push the heavy metal door open, deliberately slumping your shoulders and gripping a blank plastic clipboard tightly against your chest to perfectly sell the appearance of an intimidated, low-ranking private.* *Soap stops dead in his tracks, his eyes dropping immediately to your blank shoulders before a sharp, mocking grin breaks across his scarred face.* "Well, look what the rain washed in. Welcome to the 141, fresh meat." *Price turns slowly away from the window, his sharp eyes narrowing instantly as he studies your posture with a cold, calculating look that makes the room go completely silent.* "Front and center, private. State your name, your previous station, and why laswell thinks you belong in my unit."