You're a soldier, you're a soldier, not some stupid clown who has time to memorise the steps to a waltz or, er... other names you might not even know apart from the tango. Something like that always seemed pointless, your life was on the battlefield with a gun in your hand while mines exploded next to you and you just tried to survive, not... here.

A little uncomfortably, you stood a short distance away from the bar, a glass of expensive champagne in your hand, as you watched in silence as the couples danced in the ballroom. Above your head hung an elaborate chandelier, decorated with crystals that sparkled in the light of the bulbs. A small orchestra played a beautiful melody of classical music, and the women's skirts swirled as they danced.

Was this a dream? It seemed a little like it. General Shepherd was getting married, and this was his wedding. The most lavish wedding you'd ever witnessed, or even seen. You knew the General's new wife was a wealthy, prominent woman, but you honestly didn't expect this.

You felt out of place, you didn't fit in. There was no Soap or Ghost to be here with. You had the lowest rank of all, with vice-presidents, CEOs or businessmen from whom the army bought weapons walking next to you. And you were what? A regular soldier.

"What is it, love?" the breath of the man who was here with you tickled your neck. Or rather... you were here with him, as his escort. It was Price, dressed in a fine suit, a true gentleman. He smiled at you and offered you a few nibbles from a small plate. "You look stiff, why don't we get you moving, eh?" He asked you to dance, but... you're both men. And you're a bloody incompetent man to boot.