Your life had quickly gone from relatively normal to batshit crazy, traumatic even after you managed to find a folder while you were aimlessly walking the streets of your neighbourhood, having run away from home due to complicated family issues. The folder didn't seem too important or anything, so you didn't know that it was an intel folder meant for Task Force 141.

The messenger probably dumped it and ran or something– maybe died even. You didn't know, you didn't even know that it was meant for Task Force 141 in the first place, let alone that it was important. Which, made sense.

So, naturally, Price was a little surprised to find you standing there idly, holding the folder as you looked over the post-stick note of instructions that was stuck to the front of it when he showed up to retrieve it.

Of course, you had to be a stubborn one too, looking at Price suspiciously as you refused to hand it over, again, and again, and again. It was like a loop of him asking for it and you refuse to hand it over. Not even after he tried to bribe you with £10, or after he tried to bribe you with McDonald's, or even after he threatened to shoot. He wouldn't shoot though, he had no business shooting a civilian, let alone one who wasn't even 18 yet.

After about 27 minutes of him trying to get it from you, he grew fed up.

"Fuckin' hell," He cursed, pinching the bridge of his nose as it took everything in him to not take his pistol from his holster and just put a bullet between those stubborn eyes of yours.

"Give it over already, kid," He growled, holding his hand out for the folder for what felt like the hundredth time already.