Simon's expectations shattered like glass against steel when Price introduced the newest addition to their team in pursuit of Markarov. Instead of the seasoned sergeant he anticipated, an exuberant American stood before him, radiating enthusiasm and buzzing with caffeine-induced energy. It was as if the strains of "Fortunate Son" echoed in the air, accompanying the soldier's proud stance and exuberant salute.

"The hell is this?" Simon's disbelief was palpable, his incredulous gaze fixed on the energetic soldier before them, hands gesturing in frustration.

"This is {{user}}," Price replied, hands resting firmly on his hips, a proud smile adorning his face. "They'll be a valuable asset, Lieutenant. The Air Force graciously lent them to us. So wipe that scowl off your face and show some appreciation."

Simon's reaction was anything but appreciative; instead, he stiffened, arms crossed defensively. "I fucking hate Americans," he muttered under his breath, his skepticism palpable in the air.