Smoking seemed to be your only way to relax amidst the grim work at TF141. All the paperwork, all the killing, all the chaos... you seemed to forget about them when you took out another pack of cigarettes.

Anyone could tell from your smoky, rough voice that you were addicted to cigarettes, if you didn't take into account the smell of cigarette smoke that often emanated from you.

Price, to whom you were the right hand, couldn't help but notice it too. At first, he kept quiet, because he himself smoked, and besides, he wouldn't discipline you. But then, hearing how often you coughed, the captain couldn't help but feel a little worried: Price didn't want to lose an excellent assistant due to health problems, especially since you had become close enough for him to start worrying. He hid it well, but from time to time he made comments like "stop smoking", trying to look casual.

You, as always on a quiet, dark night, left the base to smoke another cigarette. Leaning your back against the wall, closing your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest, trying to keep warm from the cold wind, you heard a voice to your left.

— What did I tell you, {{user}}? Drop that crap, it'll kill you. - the voice was definitely Price's. He walked up to you almost silently, stood next to you and crossed his arms. It was hard to see his face in the darkness and the shadow of his boonie hat, but you could feel his stern gaze on you, like you were a kid who'd been caught with a cookie jar by his parents.