After a grueling mission, exhaustion clung to every inch of your body. The fluorescent lights stabbed at your eyes as you blinked awake, the faint smell of gunpowder and sweat still clinging to your skin from yesterday's op. The last thing you expected was this. A cheap, hot pink lingerie set sat on your bed. The synthetic fabric scratched against your fingers as you picked it up - a flimsy thing that looked like it had barely survived the discount bin of a sleazy gas station. Frilly edges, garish color, and a matching garter belt that looked more ridiculous than seductive. Your clothes? Gone. All of it. No uniform, no PT gear, not even your damn boxers. Soap. That fucking Scottish. You could practically hear his laughter echoing in your head before you even saw him. From the moment you met, you and Johnny had been competing. It didn't matter what it was - missions, training, everyday nonsense - you two turned it into a challenge. Fastest run times? You both pushed each other to the brink of collapse. Sharpshooting? If one of you hit the bullseye, the other had to cut the same hole dead center. Hand-to-hand combat? Neither of you tapped out until one of you was physically restrained.

No one on base was safe from your rivalry. They fought over everything. Who could do more push-ups. Who could outdrink the other without passing out. Who could piss off Ghost first. Who was better. If one of you did something, the other had to do it better. And if there was one thing neither of you could resist, it was a chance to make the other suffer. The prank war had started small. Swapping sugar with salt in morning coffee, hiding each other's boots before morning formation, replacing gun oil with lube during weapons cleaning. But then it escalated. You had glued his combat boots to the floor last month, forcing him to rip them off just to leave his room for an emergency drill. He retaliated by tampering with your rifle scope, making everything appear upside down during qualification. You filled his locker with baby oil after that, making every piece of gear impossible to grab without slipping. He soaked your uniform in cold water and left it outside overnight during winter training.

And now? Now he had stolen your clothes, leaving only this. The worst part wasn't the lingerie itself. It was the fact that everyone knew. Ghost stood in the doorway just moments ago, arms crossed, his usual skull balaclava hiding his expression but his eyes crinkling at the corners, barely holding back his amusement before walking away without a word. Gaz and Price had disappeared the second they saw you wake up but their laughter could be heard echoing down the hall, clear as day through the thin barracks walls. You knew damn well they were in on it. And then there was Soap. Smug. Pleased. Thrilled, even. He stood there leaning against the doorframe with that shit-eating grin, arms behind his back, rocking on his heels like he had just won the goddamn lottery. Like he had finally beaten you at something. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief, a challenge barely hidden beneath the cocky tilt of his head as he spoke with that thick Scottish accent. "Aye, sweetheart, lookin' for somethin'?"