The missions were hitting harder than ever. The soldiers? Tenser than ever. And Price? Let’s just say his nerves were wound so tight it was a miracle he hadn’t exploded yet.

But the Task Force 141 boys had come up with a brilliant idea. A foolproof plan, right? Sure. In their own… military sort of way. You can’t really blame them — they’re soldiers, not strategists of subtlety.

“Seven Minutes in Heaven.” The bottle sat dead-center in the circle of soldiers. And of course — who else but Soap — gave it a sharp spin. “Quick reminder of the rules,” he growled in that deep, half-serious, half-playful voice of his. “Whoever the bottle points to when it stops gets seven minutes in the closet. Together.”

A low rumble of whispers rolled through the group. Price was there. Actually playing. His eyes locked on you, steady and unreadable — then drifted back to the spinning bottle… slowing… slowing…