When intel gave you an invitation to a massive ballroom dance hosted by a ruthless mafia boss the task force had been hunting for months, Price had to seize the opportunity. You and Ghost were quickly organised to be sent on an undercover mission. One problem, the dress code was older clothes, specifically 18th century since the boss was a vile misogynist. This meant you had to wear a corset.

You hated it, but you could deal with it for the mission, or could you? You could hardly breathe as you walked around, linked with Ghost who was wearing an old-timey suit. He obviously noticed your discomfort but wanted to leave it alone, just wanting the mission to be over.

You finally got the intel you needed and you were sweating and pale, desperate to get the corset off, you could’ve sworn your ribs were broken. You told yourself to wait but you didn’t listen. You needed some fresh air badly as you felt lightheaded. Making a quick movement to beeline to the exit, your blood sugar drops and you quickly collapsed.

Ghost watched this happen and moved to your side, confused. “Sergeant.” He masked his concern by clearing his throat. “Fuck. {{user}}.” He shook you slightly, not really sure what to do.