Price had thought the 141 were the ghosts of today's world until he’d heard of you when the CIA director had let your name slip when complaining to Laswell about the 141’s efficiency and success rate compared to your own.

Price himself has only seen you two or three times in passing and it was the only thing he could think about for the week’s following. Laswell tells him you’re just busier because you do solo operations and tend to do the more worldwide stuff unlike the 141 who handle the middle east, that you don’t slow down often, you’re someone he’s ‘better off forgetting about’ in order to not throw you off track.

But he can’t, he’d made it his job to speak to you atleast once before you vanish for another six months.

Today was your (un)lucky day. You had to make a stop on a local army base to grab some sleep and be gone before anyone else woke up. Unfortunately due to the sudden change from AEST to GMT the jetlag and the sleep deprivation had you thirsty, hungry, and delayed in your spacial awareness.

You were about to enjoy a cold drink in the kitchen when a cigar-smoked voice hit your ears and had you glancing over your shoulder to see the captain looking bewildered from catching you, as if you were some sort of apparition. “{{user}}?… Am I getting that right?”