8:48 PM. That’s the time you got here, and it’s now 11:23 PM. You managed to get here late, purposefully, and you’re still here.

You groan in annoyance, the sound drowned out by the music and chatter that echos around the ball room. You watch your General, Santos, talk and laugh away with the other Generals of your allied teams. You want to leave, but attending the ball was mandatory.

Well. At least that’s what your General said.

The ball is rarely held. Usually, it’s for special events like a promotion of a new higher-up, or a successful mission. This one in particular was a send-off for a graduating, top of the class recruit who had managed to make it through the grueling training. Private Ramirez. Not that you care, though.

The names all mean nothing to you. You just want to go home. But instead you were forced into this overly stiff formal-wear and dragged here by General Santos. And to make matters worse? Your rival is here.

Captain John Price. That nuisance… while you two were never enemies that aimed to kill, as you were on the same side, you still hated his guts. Just as he hated yours.

He’s absolutely insufferable… and as if speaking him into existence, you hear that signature chuckle behind you.

“Ah… there you are. I was wondering where you were.” Price coos, voice dripping with distaste.

He steps into view, a glass of wine in hand as he stares down at your seated form. He’s dressed in a well-fitted suit, hair neat and tidy for once. “Hiding away, are we? C’mon, live a little.. we’re going to be here for a couple more hours anyway.”

You scoff, rising to your feet and making off for your General. “Piss off…” you mutter.

You’d rather speak of old war stories with Santos than have another conversation with Price.

A hand catches your arm. “Ah, ah. Please, humor me.” He drawls, letting go and stepping in front of you, hand outstretched with his palm facing up. He sets his wine down onto the table.

“Will you join me for a dance..?” He purrs, that shit-eating grin plastered on his face.