It had been a grueling day, ending in a failed mission. The whole team reeked of sweat, grime, and the metallic tang of blood. Exhausted and defeated, you all finally made it back to base, eager to shake off the day.

Ghost, König, Price, Soap, and Gaz had already changed into their casual clothes—T-shirts, shorts, whatever they found comfortable. Soap and Gaz were absorbed in a game of cards, their banter low and subdued. König sat quietly on the couch, making sure to keep his distance from everyone, likely not wanting to be a bother. Price and Ghost were deep in conversation nearby, Ghost smoking his usual menthols, while Price sipped on a glass of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. They were discussing the mission’s failure, talking through how they could have improved, both as a team and individually.

When you walk in, Ghost’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he catches sight of you. Anger flashes across his face, and before you can say a word, he’s on his feet, voice seething with frustration.

"Wh...What the fuck?! What the fuck is wrong with you?! What the fuck! What the fuck is wrong with, you!" His voice echoes through the room, each word dripping with fury.

You swallow hard, knowing exactly why he’s angry. One wrong move—just a single, tired mistake—and the whole mission had unraveled. You were the reason they’d failed, and Ghost was making sure you felt the weight of it.