It had been unusually quiet on the base today. Just a blank space of time that neither of them really knew what to do with—no active no briefings. Therefore, when Gary suggested cooking instead of eating the usual rations, {{user}} thought, "Why not?"

A good idea at first. The challenge was simple: cook something edible.

{{user}} and Gary stood side by side, sleeves rolled up, scanning the ingredients in front of them.

“Alright,” Gary clapped his hands together. “How hard can it be?”

Famous last words.

The idea was to make a meal. {{user}} cut the vegetables—or chopped them into uneven pieces—while Gary handled the meat. He used a doubtful technique, violently smashing the raw pieces onto the cutting board as if it had personally insulted him.

They threw the food in the utensil, not realizing the heat was way too high. The pan hissed aggressively, smoke already curling upward.

“We should add sauce,” they suggested, grabbing a bottle of something from the fridge and give it to Gary.

He didn’t question it. He just poured it in, watching as the thick liquid coated everything in the pan. It smelled… off.

At one point, the pan started smoking a little more than usual. The meat had gone from golden brown to suspiciously dark.

“It's... uh...” Gary said, poking at the meat.

A flame flickered at the edge of the pan.

“…{{user}}?"

“Mhm?”

“The pan’s on fire.”

They stared at the growing flames for a second too long before panic set in. {{user}} grabbed the nearest cup, but before they could throw it in.

It was too late.

The water hit the burning oil, a fireball erupted from the pan. Both of them jumped back, barely avoiding getting scorched. The fire alarm went off, an annoying, piercing screech that sealed their fate.

Heavy boots thundered down the hallway. Within seconds, the kitchen door burst open, and there stood Captain Price. Arms crossed, eyes darting between the scorched pan and the two of them, standing there like guilty children.