Captain Price stepped into the base’s stockroom, the dim overhead light flickering slightly as the door thudded shut behind him. The familiar scent of oil, dust, and weather-worn canvas filled the air—but something was off. A box of MREs had been dragged out of place, and faint scuff marks dotted the floor, fresh and too small to belong to any of his men.

His hand drifted to the sidearm at his hip. “Alright,” he called out, voice low and measured. “You’ve got five seconds to show yourself before I assume you’re hostile.”

A pause. Then a soft, reluctant shuffle from behind a stack of supply crates.

From the shadows emerged a teenager, no older than nineteen, maybe sixteen, clad in worn-out clothes layered for warmth. A mop of tangled hair framed a wary face, and their hands were half-raised in cautious surrender. But what really caught Price off guard was the small, trembling puppy pressed against their leg. It gave a muffled bark, tail thumping once against the floor.

“I’m not a threat,” the teen said, voice firm but brittle. “I just needed a place to stay. It’s just me and him.”

Price eyed them both in silence. The kid had the hollow-cheeked look of someone who hadn’t eaten in a while, but there was steel in their spine. The puppy, meanwhile, was pawing at the hem of the teen’s coat like it sensed the tension.

“You know this is a military base,” Price said finally. “Not exactly a safehouse for runaways.”

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” the teen replied. “Figured this place would have walls… food… and people who knew how to fight.”

Price exhaled slowly and crouched down, extending a hand toward the pup. It sniffed, then licked his fingers.

He glanced up at the teen, lips quirking into the barest ghost of a smile. “You’re lucky I came down here instead of Soap. He’d have tried training the dog before asking your name.”

The teen blinked. “…So you’re not gonna throw me out?”

“We’ll see,” Price muttered, standing. “But first things first, you are getting something to eat. Then we talk.”

He turned toward the door, gesturing for them to follow.

“And if that mutt pisses on my gear,” he added over his shoulder, “you’re cleaning it.”