"First things first, as of this morning, we still have no Intel on any new operations."

Groans of both disbelief and boredom echo throughout the briefing room, several of the Task Force 141 soldiers rolling their eyes or letting their heads hand. "And thus marks the fourth month of solid training," Toad huffs from his seat around the long table, a scowl etched into his features.

"Why don't we go up to Shepard and demand something so we aren't just sitting around forever?" Scarecrow calls out, gaining several murmurs of approval from his fellow soldiers.

"I've already asked, and the General said that he's got nothing." Captain John MacTavish shakes his head, keeping a neutral expression on his face, despite his annoyance at his CO. The world can't be in that great of shape, seeing as the Ultranationalists led by Vladimir Makarov are still at large. Nodding to his XO, MacTavish signs for Ghost to continue on with the monthly briefing.

"In other news, we have a new man coming with us from here on out." Looking up warily at the expressions of the special units men, Ghost smirks underneath of his skull balaclava. That certainly peaked their interests, a score on the British soldiers behalf. He was the one who decided that a new face would add some life back on base, and to his hardly ever existing joy, the Captain agreed, although mainly to get the creepy smile off of Simons face. That guy can get the president to hand over nuke codes in a moment, just so he'd stop with the freaky face.

"Where's he from?"

"What's he good in?"

"Which team is he joining?"

"Can he cook?"

The last one earned a swat from Cherub, who more often than not took it upon himself to cook for his fellow soldiers when the actual Cook was busy preparing for the next meal. Meat just rubbed his arm with a smirk, proud that he got a jab at the Brit's cooking skills.

"Asshole," Cherub grumbled, crossing his arms angrily.

"SAS, Scotland more specifically, I believe infiltration and he has formal training in sniping, most likely Hotel, and how the bloody hell am I supposed to know?"

Seeming satisfied with the answers, the top tier soldiers murmured around themselves, some anxious, all excited. A new face would truly change the pace of everything around base.

Fidgeting slightly in his seat, Roach just prayed that the FNG wouldn't be corrupted by Meat, due to the recent series of pranks base-wide, dubbed the 'Great Prank War', where Meat "accidentally" let a skunk loose in Roach's room. To put it shortly, both man and animal were startled that day, and Roach just got the smell of skunk out of his room. He really did not need the GPW 2 breaking out so soon. Not until he can corrupt the new guy.

"When's he coming over?" Chemo calls out, asking a question that you'd think someone would've already asked.

"Tomorrow morning, last I checked. He's running one last OP with his team and then coming when they get back." MacTavish answers, pleasing Chemo. The Canadian never was the patient one.

"If that's everything, then you're dismissed." Ghost nods to the Captain, flipping his little notebook closed. Taking it as a sign that they can go, the men stand quickly, and beeline to the Mess Hall, where Cook had been slaving over the stoves to provide food for the ever-hungry soldiers that he pledged to feed.

Every time that Meat entered the Mess, Cook always thought that he'd pass out, due to the soldiers abnormally large appetite that's earned some teasing from his fellow soldiers about his name.

Not to anyone's surprise, Meat was the first one in the Mess, and first to the counter. The hall filled with discussion on the same topic unanimously. What will the FNG be like?

He isn't a FNG in the standard of he just joined up, but he's going to be brand fucking new to the mess and brilliance that is the 141.

"The man better not try to take over my goddamn job, else I'll shoot his jewels." Archer grumbles, dropping his tray unceremoniously. The sniper was still reluctant to have Toad work with him at times, but everyday the man grew on him more and more.

"No one can take over your job, Arch, you can hit a Coyote from a mile off," Roach teases, jabbing fun at the Irishman. How, no one knew, but while providing over watch in a training exercise, the man thought that Ghost had put up some of the moving targets, and decided to take a shot at it. Needless to say, he hit the animal he thought to be a target, but the mile off was quite the exaggeration.

"Shut up. I wasn't the one who fell off the training tower last month," Archer shoots back with a hard glare. "I have grace and balance, two things you've never learned before."

"Oi!" Leaning forwards, the good-natured soldier meets Archers hard gaze with an equally terrifying one, at least to a civilian, eyebrows bunched together.

"Alright ladies, let's break it up." Chemo sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Archer, the FNG won't take you spot. You're invaluable to us, and your skills are top notch," turning to Roach, Chemo smirks. "And you can survive any fall, that's why we call you Roach."

"Hahaha, very funny," Roach snaps, digging his plastic spoon into his mashed potatoes. Quickly shoving the spoon heaping with spuddy goodness, Roach almost melts in his seat. The 141 really had the best cook around.

No one could beat Cook's cooking, nothing. The FNG is going to be a lucky S.O.B when he gets in.