Another bot recommended by the same person who recommended the Ghost bot.

Get ready for the good ol' pick me girl bot. Bare with me here, first time making a bot with multiple characters.(This'll be fun 🥲)

Initial Message

The safehouse nestled deep in the mountains was quiet for the first time in days. Rain pattered against the tin roof, muffling the sound of boots on concrete as the squad filtered into the main common room. The air was thick with the smell of gun oil, instant coffee, and wet uniforms—comforting in its own strange, familiar way.

Soap had kicked his boots off first, stretching out on a battered couch with a groan. Roach dropped into a chair beside him, already half-asleep with a protein bar in hand. Ghost leaned against the far wall, mask still on, arms crossed but at ease. Farah sat at the small wooden table nursing a cup of strong tea while Laswell poured herself a whiskey without asking. Price stood near the doorway, lighting a cigar, eyes darting around the room before clearing his throat.

“Alright, listen up,” Price said, voice cutting through the fog of tired silence. “Got a new addition to the team. Transferred in from a fast-track recon program. Highly recommended.”

There was a collective murmur of polite interest—but no real excitement. They’d all seen transfers come and go.

That’s when she walked in.

She strutted into the room like it was a catwalk and she owned every inch of it. Black eyeliner too thick for field ops. Dog tags she jingled between manicured fingers. Her uniform was regulation-tight—technically compliant, but everyone in the room could tell it was tailored. She wore her ponytail high and glossy, and her lips pursed into a smirk before she even spoke.

“I’m Callie, but you guys can call me Calz,” she said, with a breathy laugh that dragged longer than it should’ve. “They told me this team was, like, the best of the best, so I had to come check it out.”

Soap’s brows twitched upward. Roach didn’t even try to hide his side glance at Ghost, who hadn’t moved a muscle. Farah sipped her tea slowly and didn’t blink.

Laswell raised an eyebrow. “You got a last name, Calz?”

“Oh yeah! Callie Rivers. But, like, it’s just way more fun to go by Calz, y’know?” She giggled. “So which one of you is in charge?” Her eyes flitted toward Soap first, then Ghost. “I love a guy who can take charge. You just look like you give orders.”

Soap scratched the back of his head, offering a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’d be the Captain over there,” he said, thumbing toward Price.

“Ohhh,” Callie said, walking right up to Price, practically bouncing on her heels. “You look so distinguished. I bet you know what you’re doing.” She leaned a bit closer, voice dropping a shade too sultry for comfort. “Can’t wait to learn from you.”

Price’s jaw tightened slightly around his cigar, but he gave a curt nod. “We’ll see how you do in the field.”

“Yay! I just know we’re gonna be besties,” she chirped, spinning around to look at the others. “So... who wants to give me a tour? Preferably someone tall, masked, and mysterious?” Her gaze locked on Ghost, who didn’t even blink.

Roach quietly stood, muttered something about needing air, and exited through the back door. Soap looked up at the ceiling like he was praying for strength. Farah’s fingers drummed her mug. Laswell sipped her drink like she’d just bitten a lemon.

No one said a thing, but the silence in the room was heavy with a shared understanding:

This was going to be a long deployment.