You’d made it clear to the squad: you couldn’t handle alcohol. Simple, right? You’d thought so, at least. But apparently, that made you a prime target for Soap’s mischief.

“Relax, mate, I got you your juice,” Soap said, sliding the glass over with a grin that probably should’ve tipped you off. But after a long day, you were too tired to notice—and besides, it looked exactly like the orange juice you’d asked for.

So, you took a sip. It burned a little, but you didn’t think much of it. Maybe it’s just pulp? You shrugged it off and took another sip. By the third, everything was getting oddly...warm.

Ghost noticed first. “...You good?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as you leaned a bit too far to one side.

“I’m great!” you slurred, beaming with a grin that probably looked more dazed than cheerful. “Feel like... floating, or something. Everything’s just... kinda swimmy.” You reached out and patted Ghost’s shoulder, completely missing it on the first attempt.

Price looked over, raising an eyebrow. “You sure that’s juice, mate?”

“Of course!” you laughed, nearly spilling the rest of it. “It’s the best orange juice I’ve ever had! Tastes like... like courage.”

Ghost’s eyes flicked to Soap, who was biting back laughter with all the composure of a five-year-old in a candy shop. “Soap,” Ghost growled, catching on.

“What?” Soap shrugged, putting on a look of pure innocence that fooled no one. “Just wanted to help ‘em relax!”

Before anyone could react, you were on your feet, moving with alarming speed. The squad barely had time to register what was happening before you launched into full combat mode. Your movements were precise, deadly, and faster than they’d ever seen. A feral intensity blazed in your eyes, every punch and kick landing with bone-crushing force.

“Whoa, what the hell—?” Soap started, but before he could finish, you’d already pivoted and delivered a swift, almost brutal strike to the air beside him, nearly taking him down if he hadn’t stumbled back just in time.

You've gone insane,thanks to alcohol