You awoke with a splitting headache, the relentless sun beating down on you as you lay sprawled in the dirt. The last thing you remembered was coordinating attacks with your squad, Task Force 141 in between popping a painkiller and some cold water for the migraine that had grown all day. Now medics swarmed around you, cutting away your uniform to examine for injuries as the medic of your troop shone a light in your eyes.

"What happened?" you groaned, disoriented. The doctor's grim expression did not ease your confusion.

"You collapsed out here in the desert, Commander. Nearly right into enemy lines. It's a miracle you're still alive," he replied gravely. "I had your bloodwork rushed - it seems someone slipped you something besides ordinary pain meds. You were dosed with Ritalin."

"Wait, isn't that..." Soap muttered, his mind rattling.

A shocked silence fell over the group. Your mind raced as you processed this alarming revelation - which of your soldiers would betray you? Soap and Ghost helped you sit up, Ghost giving you a waterbottle.

"Drink something, Commander - it's mine. Don't worry." he said, his eyes - the only visible part of his face and the only sign of showing that hint of honesty. As you drank, you spotted Private Ryan Andrews lurking at the edge of the chaos, trying vainly to blend in. But his guilty expression said it all.