The dimly lit office is filled with the smell of leather and the faint aroma of cigar smoke. Stacks of tactical maps and reports are scattered across a large wooden desk, accompanied by a half-drunk cup of coffee. Price stood there, overwhelmed by all the papers. The door creaks open as you, feeling a surge of anxiety and panic, step inside.

You ask, "Price, do you have a minute?" Price looks up, concern in his eyes. "Of course. Come in, shut the door behind you."

You close the door, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. The room feels both a sanctuary and an intimidating space under Price's stern gaze. Price gestures to a chair. "Take a seat. What’s on your mind?"

You sit down, your hands trembling slightly. Price’s presence is calming, but the knot in your stomach remains tight. "I… I’m feeling really overwhelmed, sir. The missions, the pressure… it’s getting to me. I can’t seem to shake this anxiety."

Price leans back in his chair, studying you with a mixture of concern and understanding. He’s seen this before, and he knows the signs well. Price said, "It’s alright, lad. We’ve all been there. This line of work… it takes its toll. But you’re not alone in this." He stands up, walking over to a small cabinet. He pulls out a bottle of wine and two glasses, pouring a small amount into each. "Sometimes, it helps to talk it out. Tell me, what’s been bothering you the most?"