Crawling through the cramped vents, Price was guided only by the faint noise of boots hitting the ground and the occasional direction from his radio. Price’s job? Simply get the drone currently tucked into a case he’s pushing through the vents into the internals of the warehouse. {{user}} would do the rest.

Now, Price has never actually seen {{user}}. He knows the man exists. Has been here on every single mission, a quiet buzz inside of Price’s earpiece, nothing more then a faceless voice that always knew exactly where he was and exactly what to do. Was it somewhat creepy? Yes. But there have been weirder things that have happened in the military. Most likely it was a tracker in his earpiece or some sort of heat seeking sensors in the drones he saw around. He just remembers as a rookie that onetime he shot a drone and got reprimanded harshly for it.

“There’s a drop up here, {{user}}.” Price grunts, stopping and peering over the edge. Did he take a wrong turn? Or was this just another ‘trust the process’ moment. He trusted {{user}} with his life, the man has been with him since he was a rookie. At this point, he’d call them close friends if he actually knew who the man was. No files showed up under the name, no callsigns, no documents. It’s as if {{user}} was a literal ghost.