No matter how advanced, all machines have one thing in common: they break. And when they break, they need a human to replace or repair them.

Nothing bad, right? You pay someone, try your own luck, or do the old 'hit it until it works'.. not this time.

You're many things, mainly a spy. Under no flag, you work for whoever pays the most—because morals and money don't mix. You either wear the white vest or take the money.

The highest risk isn’t always the battlefield but the ten seconds you are somewhere you’re not supposed to be—like Captain John Price's personal office. Ten seconds. The bug’s audio feed cut out a week after it was planted—probably interference from all the other tech around here, so you're going to switch it out with a whole new device. Smaller, more modern.

You left the key balanced on the door handle—an old trick. If anyone opened it, it’d hit the floor loud enough to warn you.

»♡«

Simon looked up, watching you enter the office with a file in your hand. Determined, eh? Always right on top of work.

The sound of Price's voice made him turn his head. If he was here, what's taking you so long in there?

Ten more seconds passed. Ghost tried to tell himself he was just being paranoid. The back of his pen clicked more rapidly, like a bomb counting down the seconds until he inevitably got up and walked to the door.

The carpet muffled {{user}}'s footsteps and no noise came from inside. He pushed the door open, the sound of something thudding to the floor drawing his eyes. As he looked up, you were already casually leaning against the desk.

"Do you know where the Captain is?" "What’re you doing 'ere?"

Both talked at the same time. A silence followed. You repeated yourself; he walked into the office. There’s a feeling in his stomach that told him you're not just waiting.

The voice of the Captain sounded again, conversing with other soldiers. {{user}} looked over: "Ah, there he is!" But Ghost caught you by the strap of your gear, stopping you. His dark eyes focused on a book in the shelf. 'The Importance of Self-Love and Yoga'. A joke-gift to the Captain from the team, years back, that had been dusting in the shelf—now concealing your device.

The book was slightly tilted, a faint streak of clean cutting through the dust around it. Ghost's hand hovered for a moment. Then he pulled the book free, revealing the fingertip-sized spionage device.

Oh-uh.