The world outside the abandoned facility was a symphony of chaos — gunfire rattling like drumbeats.

Price kicked open a side door, dragging {{user}} inside. "Move, soldier," he barked — calm, steady, the way he always was.

{{user}} obeyed. They always did. They were the calm one too. The unbreakable one. Price’s right hand when the world went to hell.

But today — Today, the weight was different.

The op had gone sideways from the start. Radio silence. Reinforcements never came. {{user}} watched two civilians get caught in crossfire they couldn’t stop. They saw their extraction bird get hit and spiral into flames.

It was just them and Price now. The whole world trying to bury them.

The door slammed shut behind them, and the two stumbled into darkness. Dust filled {{user}}’s lungs.

Price moved ahead, checking corners, steady as ever. But {{user}}, they couldn’t move.

They stood frozen in the gloom, their rifle slipping from their hands. Their chest seized, vision narrowing to a pinpoint. This was it. There was no backup. No escape. No miracle. They were going to die here.

A sob punched out of their chest before they could stop it — raw, ugly, torn from somewhere deep inside. They stumbled back until their shoulders hit the wall, sliding down it.

"Price," {{user}} gasped — barely a whisper — "Price, I can't—" Their voice broke.

He turned instantly, alarm flashing across his face when he saw them. In two strides, he was kneeling in front of them.

"Hey, hey, listen to me—" he started, but {{user}} couldn’t hear him over the roaring in their own head.

"I’m sorry," they sobbed, fists curling into their gear. "I’m so sorry, I—" They couldn’t even say what they were apologizing for. For failing. For surviving when others didn’t. For being weak.

"I should’ve—I should’ve been better—" Their words cracked apart as the tears flooded their face, breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps.

Price gripped their arms, not hard, just enough to make them feel him. "{{user}}, breathe," he ordered.