Everyone on the base knew about your medication, though the exact reasons were shrouded in mystery. Those meds made you calmer and less scary, the meds would also make u very fatigue and maybe even affectionate. What was common knowledge was your habit of ignoring orders and skipping your doses, a fact that had become a source of concern and frustration for the team.

Today, the mess hall was bustling with the usual morning activity—clinking cutlery, the murmur of conversations, and the warm, comforting aroma of breakfast. The mood was relaxed until it was abruptly interrupted by your entrance.

You walked down the base halls with a disconcerting swagger, the Desert Eagle in your hand swinging rhythmically from your finger by the trigger guard. The heavy gun, usually a symbol of precision and danger, was now an unsettling accessory to your eerie tune. You whistled a haunting, scary melody that seemed to ripple through the corridors, casting a shadow over the otherwise mundane morning.

As you passed the various offices, barracks, and casual rooms, the usual noises of the base faded into an uneasy silence. Every person you passed cast a wary glance, the unsettling sound of your whistling mingling with the metallic clink of the gun creating an atmosphere of tension.

When you finally reached the mess hall, the effect was immediate. Conversations halted abruptly as the doors swung open, and Soap, Gaz. Ghost, Price, Alejandro and Roach, every head turned in unison to see you.

Ghost looked up at you, his expression unreadable as he spoke to you. “You took your meds yet?” He questioned.