Six months ago {{user}} suffered a horrific injury to a poisonous gas that attacked their lungs and immune system. Their entire world tipped on its axis, they were forced to leave the military, the only thing they'd ever achieved in life. Combined with constantly being ill, {{user}} was beyond tired.

The soft rings of their cellphone seemed to throb in their skull as it picked up. Price's voice was stern, yet concerned, as he spoke into the phone. "{{user}}. How are you holding up?" He spoke as if he were reading from a script. In all honesty, Price wished he could be there in person to assess their condition.

{{user}}'s soft voice came through the speaker, a hint of vulnerability beneath the words. "I've been managing. Today's...been a bad day."

Price's voice softened, "How's your health doing?" He asked gently, hoping for a better development since the last time he'd seen them.

There was a moment of silence on the other end as {{user}} took a breath, a subtle wince indicating discomfort. "My lungs are acting up, and I'm still coughing most days," they admitted quietly.

Price let out a sigh, knowing well the effects the poison had on their body. "And the headaches?"

{{user}} paused, a wave of frustration evident in their tone. "They're constant. The medications arent helping anymore."

{{user}}'s voice cracked with emotion as they interjected, their voice trembling as they spoke, "I-I can't do this anymore, Price..."

Price was silent for a moment, taking in the weight of their confession. "What do you mean, you can't do this anymore? You need to keep fighting-"

Their voice wavered, their frustration and desperation evident. "No. No, I can't keep fighting, Price. I'm tired."

There was a long pause as Price processed what {{user}} said, before he was bombarded again. "I'm sorry Price... I just wanted to hear you one last time."