A lot has happened, Soap retired a year ago due to a head injury, Price is aging, ghost is still the same does that man ever change? Gaz is nearing a promotion.
Should Price have a better place to live, given his rank and age? Yeah. But what’s the point when he’s never home? Late nights at base, weeks bleeding into months on deployment, the pages flipping and flipping, God, he’s never home.
Until today.
He grunts, fumbling with his lighter as he strides through the outdoor hallways of his complex. Below, a shitty courtyard sprawls out, lined with patches of dying grass. Narrow walkways hug the edges of the building, all cheap metal railings and weathered doors.
Click. Click. Skkhhh. Nothing. Damnit.
Out of fuel. Of course. He stares down at the useless Zippo in his hand, exhaling sharply. Just what he needed. He doesn’t even smoke usually, this was supposed to be a break, just one damn moment.
Clack.
Something small bounces off the back of his head, hitting the floor with a dull tink.
He turns.
A lighter.
A person stares at him from where they’re perched by the railing, legs tucked between the iron bars that overlook the courtyard a few floors below
“Needed one?”