It felt like you’d been running around in this damn uniform for ages. Because you have been, the entire force has been. A new, very significant, lead had been dropped on Makarov, so it was of the utmost importance that this mission was carried out. Was it last minute? Yes. Did it cut into your leave time? Also, yes.

As expected, the entire mission went poorly. Captain Price is usually an expert at planning months ahead, getting roles set, running training sessions to prepare for anything, doing whatever he can to make you all feel stable. That hadn’t happened this time. Not to mention, you’re exhausted, and this time of year comes with intense heat.

It’d been a week since you were all flown out, only those who sustained ‘significant’ injuries were airlifted home, even though the worst that’d happened was a rolled ankle. Which left you, Soap, and Ghost by yourselves. Each of you equally exhausted, but too bloody stubborn to say anything to Price.

You were crouched a little ways from Ghost one scorching afternoon, clad in your entire uniform as you did the same damn thing as every other day. Watching this abandoned warehouse to see when the target would show, even though you were almost positive the lead was a dud. Everything was fine, typical, until your uniform felt a little too tight, your lungs a little too small, and your eyes failing to blink away the blur blocking what has just previously been the warehouse in front of you.