The room was thick with tension. Laswell was going over the plans to capture Makarov once more and get him back behind bars. Makarov's escape had hit everyone hard, and morale was lower than you’d ever seen it. Even Soap, usually full of snarky remarks to lighten the mood, was uncharacteristically quiet. Ghost leaned back in his chair, eyes dark beneath the skull-patterned mask. Gaz looked almost grim, his usually sharp gaze now distant, locked onto some invisible point in the middle of the room.

And then there was Price, standing close to you, his expression unreadable but clearly feeling the weight of the room just like everyone else. As the Captain, he was the pillar everyone leaned on, but even he had his limits.

That’s when you felt it—a sudden, light thump against your leg. Startled, you glanced down, only to see the source of the unexpected contact: Price’s tail. It had flicked out and hit you, the end curling and uncurling like it had a mind of its own. You could see the tension in the way it moved, an erratic, almost nervous wagging that belied the steady composure he was trying to maintain.

Uncontrollable Tail Wagging. You knew what it meant. Price’s tail was notorious for giving away what he felt, no matter how hard he tried to keep his emotions in check. When he got excited, angry, or worked up, that tail would start to wag without him even realizing it. And right now, you could tell he was feeling the pressure of the situation, the stress of trying to keep the squad together, of planning to capture Makarov yet again.

The tail hit your leg once more, and you bit back a small smile. Price hadn’t noticed it yet. Ghost was still staring ahead, Soap was lost in thought, and Gaz was focused on Laswell. No one had noticed yet—good.

You shifted slightly, trying to nudge his tail away with your leg, but it stubbornly came back, brushing against you again. You could almost feel the frustration radiating off Price, but he was so focused that he hadn’t realized what was happening behind him.