The desk lamp dimly lit two half-empty glasses of whiskey. There was no mood to drink, but at least it helped to distract from the inevitable future. A deathly silence reigned in the office. Surely everyone had long since gone to the barracks; only you and Price remained, lost in a small room, immersed in the darkness of night.

The rough beard brushed against the skin of your head, and strong hands lazily slid down your back. It was unclear where these tears came from—maybe the alcohol had stirred your mind, or perhaps the realization that this mission could be John’s last. A flood of tears mercilessly choked you. Why was Price as calm as a snake? Wasn’t he afraid for his own life?

“Don’t cry,” he said in his steady, deep voice. “After all, we still have this evening, just in case…”

Forever carefree! He cares for others, forgetting himself. What if the mission really goes off plan? Where would you find another comrade like him?