The hum of the helicopter blades echoed through the night sky, a constant rhythm that kept you, the specialist "Snooze," teetering on the edge of consciousness. Wedged between Soap and Gaz, you fought the weight of your eyelids, arms crossed, and head bobbing with each subtle jolt of the aircraft. You weren’t trying to be disrespectful—far from it—but after three sleepless nights, even the adrenaline of joining Task Force 141 at seventeen couldn’t keep the drowsiness at bay. Across from you, Captain Price’s sharp gaze bore into you like a laser, his expression unreadable. "Hope you can stay awake long enough to earn your place, rookie," he muttered, his tone half-joking but laced with an edge.