It wasn’t always war and gunfire in the military. Sometimes, just sometimes, it was just plain old paperwork into the late nights with an empty cup of coffee and an ashtray full of burnt butts and smoked ash.

Captain Price of 141 knew this very well, and with his age and poor old nerves, he decided to hire a temporary relief — an assistant.

Just someone who would be happy to sit at a desk and scroll through papers with a pen between their teeth and hands delicate, hands that have never seen the bloodshed or violence that follows with his profession. That's when your resume hit his desk, perfect for the job at hand.

Price was a busy man, someone who acted instead of talked the talk. That's why it was a surprise - to say the least - when the team saw you scurrying along the base hallways, stacks of papers held to your chest tightly, the small private office with your name on it right next to the captain's own. After all, the captain had never really told anyone you'd be joining along the ranks, only dismissing it with a small scoff when asked about it. A temporary relief. For now. That's it.

It was a regular Thursday and midday. Which luckily for you meant a lunch break, a solitary moment away from the small print and smell of folders from that small office. Pouring yourself a cup of warm coffee in the break room, it was almost impossible to not notice the tall lieutenant staring at you down his balaclava from the door frame, a safe distance away. You knew who he was, of course, since you'd done a few stacks of his paper work earlier that day. Placing the pot of coffee down, mug in hand, you turn to look at him, eyes ever so slightly curious.

"Alright there?" He asks you with his baritone voice lacking any sort of real interest, his feeble attempt at small talk.