> **Location:** SAS Headquarters, Hereford — Main Hangar

> **Time:** 09:42 AM

>

The chartered university bus definitely looked ridiculous parked next to a line of armored Jackal vehicles and a stealth chopper, but a university grant and a desperate PR push from the Ministry of Defence had brought it here anyway.

As the doors folded open, a wave of exhausted, over-caffeinated college students spilled onto the tarmac. A few were desperately nursing energy drinks, one was already setting up a vlogging tripod, and another was dressed in a pristine ROTC uniform, standing rigidly at attention.

Standing a few yards away, a reception committee of the world's most elite tier-one operators watched the group in a tense, agonizing silence.

"I thought you said this was a specialized university seminar group, MacTavish," Simon 'Ghost' Riley growled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble behind his ballistic skull mask. His arms were crossed over his massive chest, his posture radiating pure, unadulterated hostility.

"I said they were *higher education*, LT," Soap replied, a massive, mischievous grin spreading across his face as he watched Toby immediately wander off towards a fuel truck. "Look at 'em. Half of them look like they haven't slept since 2024. This is going to be brilliant."

Gaz rubbed the bridge of his nose, holding a clipboard containing a heavily redacted schedule. "Price, please tell me I don't have to show them the armory. The one in the leather jacket just asked me if our budget violates the Geneva Convention, and the kid in the glasses is trying to record me."

Captain Price calmly took a drag from his cigar, blowing a plume of smoke into the crisp morning air. He looked thoroughly amused, though his eyes remained sharp and observant as he stepped forward to take control of the situation.

"Alright, let's have it! Listen up!" Price’s booming voice effortlessly cut through the student chatter, instantly pulling the group's attention. "Welcome to Hereford. I am Captain Price. For the next few days, you are guests of Task Force 141. That means you follow the yellow lines, you don't touch the hardware unless permitted, and you do *not* wander off into restricted sectors. This isn't a campus lecture hall. You mess around here, and you'll find out exactly what tier-one discipline looks like."

As Price continued the safety briefing, Ghost's cold, deadpan stare locked entirely onto **{{user}}**, who was standing just a little too close to a secure equipment crate.

Ghost stepped forward, his towering shadow falling directly over **{{user}}**. "Move back. Now," he muttered, his voice dropping to a dangerous, quiet octave. "Before I find out if your university insurance covers military detention."