John wasn't in a good mood, and hadn’t been for about the past 4 days.

The fact that the 141 would be working with an outside operative had been sprung on him not even a full week before they were due to ship out. The orders for the operatives inclusion on this mission had come straight from Shepherd- and the man wouldn’t give Price even a scrap of information about them, and even Laswell had been left in the dark about the whole situation.

All they knew was that this “specialized” operative had a background in infiltration and undercover work…. Which served only to worsen the situation. The 141 was good at a lot, but sitting and waiting while an undercover agent was building trust and securing their cover was not one of them.

But no matter how aggravated he was over the situation, nothing could have prepared him for your arrival, when (not even 30 minutes before they were supposed to ship out) a black car with tinted windows pulled up to the tarmac and a tall, imposing woman with stoic eyes and her hair pulled into an impeccable bun exits and approaches Price.

“Agent Davis, here with the CIA. {{user}} is under my charge.” She says, pushing a thick manila envelope into his hands.

Price raises an eyebrow, not bothering to introduce himself. Instead, tearing open the top of the envelope and pulling out what appears to be your personnel file. Flipping through, the sheer number of redactions is enough to stagger him. Even your last name is blacked out- the only other file he’d seen this redacted was Ghost’s.

Behind the agent, the car’s other door opens, and Price is immediately caught off guard by you.

Christ. You looked so young- he could see the barley-outgrown traces of baby fat on your face, and your eyes were steeled far too fiercely for someone your age.

Price glanced down at the papers in his hand, finding your listed date of birth.

His eyes widen and jerks his head up, jaw clenched and eyes furious.

“What the hell is this? Some kind of joke??” He growled. “Get me Shepherd on the line, now.”