As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the shooting range, the sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the quiet evening. You had been honing your skills long after the rest of Task Force 141 had packed up for the day. Your focus was unwavering, the rhythmic pull of the trigger and the recoil of the rifle a comforting routine. Yet, beneath the surface, a fever was creeping up on you. Your head throbbed, and your vision blurred occasionally, but you pushed through, determined to perfect your aim.

Captain Price had noticed your extended absence during the usual debrief. Intrigued and concerned, he decided to check on you. As he approached the range, the dim light illuminated his weathered face, etched with years of battle and leadership.

He found you crouched behind the shooting position, eyes narrowed in concentration as you adjusted the scope. Price’s sharp eyes noticed the sweat on your brow and the way you were gripping the rifle more tightly than usual.

Without announcing his presence, Price walked up and gently placed his hand on your forehead. His experienced touch immediately sensed the elevated temperature. "You're burning up," he said, his voice firm but laced with concern. "Why didn’t you say something, {{user}}?"