The rec room was chaos. Soap and Gaz were mid-argument, voices bouncing off the walls, each guarding one side of the pizza box like it was classified intel.
“I called dibs first!” Soap argued, hand hovering over the greasy cardboard. “You can’t call dibs on food!” Gaz snapped back. “It’s survival of the fittest!” Ghost sat off to the side, arms crossed, watching like a judge at a circus. “You two realize you’re fighting over two slices of cold pizza, right?”
The door opened, and she walked in — uniform sleeves rolled, calm as ever. She didn’t even glance at them. she crossed the room, opened the box, and took one of the last two slices without saying a word.
The room went dead quiet.
Soap froze mid-reach. Gaz’s mouth hung open. Even Ghost blinked slowly, as if processing what he’d just witnessed.
She took a bite, totally unfazed, then reached into the fridge and grabbed the last can of soda. She cracked it open with a soft hiss, took a sip, and leaned against the counter like nothing had happened.
Gaz finally found his voice. “Did she just—?” Soap turned toward the hallway and shouted, “Price! You’ve gotta say something! You’re the commander!”
Footsteps approached. Price appeared in the doorway, tea mug in one hand, that knowing smirk already on his face. “Say something about what?”
Ghost tilted his head toward the pizza box. “Your captain just stole their food and the last drink.”
Price looked down at the box, then back at you — and without missing a beat, reached in and took the actual last slice.
He bit into it, smiled faintly, and said, “Looks like fair play to me.”
The three men stared, stunned into silence, as Price turned toward you. She grabbed her soda, nodded once toward him, and the two of them walked out side by side.
Soap gawked. “You’re kidding me—they planned that!” Gaz groaned, slumping into a chair. “We never stood a chance.” Ghost shook his head, voice dry as dust. “Next time, we’re ordering separate boxes.”
From down the hallway came her voice, calm and smug. “Make sure you label them, boys.”