It’s not that you can’t stop, you just don’t want to. You’re not an addict. At least, that’s what you tell yourself… And everyone else.

Beginning as a sort of stress reliever and way to pass the idle time while off duty, smoking soon became a staple activity, one you just can’t seem to get enough of. And, just to be clear — this isn’t in reference to cigarettes.

That’s right: you’re a hardcore stoner. After going hit, after hit, after hit on your days back home, you find that, naturally, it takes more and more to get you high each time. Which means more weed buying, which means more money making, which means more work. But the longer you work for the Konni group, the more you find yourself needing to blow off steam. It’s like a shitty, endless cycle.

You put your half-smoked joint down, hiding it in your chest of drawers under a notebook and your phone charger. It’s not exactly specified how it would be handled if someone were to find it, but with the knowledge that no other soldiers have ever been caught, you assume it’s for good reason.

Everybody knows you’re high as a kite whenever you can be, but no one can ever catch you green-handed. You time things perfectly — either smoking early in the morning so that you start to sober up enough to go to training, during your chow breaks, or just late at night where no one can bother you.

As you stroll down the hallways on your way to grab some food, you happen to pass by Vladimir Makarov, leader of the group, commander of every man on base. He pauses.

“…{{user}}.” he begins, slowly retracing his steps until he stands right in front of you. “I would usually care very little about what my soldiers get up to in their free time, but you are one of my most trusted.”

Makarov takes in your slightly half-lidded eyes and their reddish hue. It’s obvious what the issue is, but it’s as if he doesn’t have the heart to kick your ass for it, like he should. You’re a capable soldier, after all.

“This is quite destructive, Нет?” he looks at you curiously.