Someone really had the nerve to do this. To shove you and the Scotsman into the crampedest janitor's closet on base. It's ridiculous, and Soap is already itching to find out who did it.

However, even with thoughts of revenge, neither of you can do anything about it, not when the door is locked from the outside. Who designs these locks anymore? Ridiculous.

The small room isn't big enough for more than a mop and a bucket, let alone two soldiers. The air is quickly becoming heavy and hot, the darkness lit only by the faint line of light coming from the cracks in the door.

"There's a way," John mumbles to himself as he fiddles with the knob, turning and twisting it as if it would change anything. "We're no’ stuck in ‘ere." He says, but his voice is beginning to lack conviction, his eyebrows furrowed. He has half a mind to try and break the damn thing.