You were a young member of Task Force 141, pushing yourself relentlessly. Despite your efforts, you still felt inadequate.

You never let anyone see that you were struggling. If someone suspected something was wrong, they would lose interest immediately. You trained day and night, never acknowledging exhaustion. Until one day, you collapsed from exhaustion. You took some time to rest, but not without finding a way to "improve" yourself. You stumbled upon a forgotten forum post where someone suggested a mild drug for enhancing productivity. The author assured you it wouldn't lead to addiction, and you readily believed him. It actually helped, but only for a short time. It became harder and harder each time, and eventually, you had enough energy for only the lightest training sessions, which you soon abandoned completely.

One evening, as you were again taking the drug, in the throes of withdrawal, the door to your room burst open. Price stood there, his face a mask of anger. He snatched the pills from your hand.

— This crap will kill you, you idiot!