Simon never cared for the ranks. Respected, but never truly cared. Another minute, another hour, another day. A matter of how long you've scarred and beaten yourself up for the sake of war. How much you could endure alone.

When Price dragged in the team to meet the new General, he was a little suprised. Suprised, but not like Soap, who was gnawing his cheek in anticipation, fingers clenching like a wild animal. Another person to follow orders under.

Time clicked on by, second by second, dragging on like a dreaded funeral waiting to be endured. 8:53 AM. Two more minutes until this newfound General was late. Cold eyes observed each person in the room.

Price, stiff as a board, constantly wiping the sweat from his palm, yet his eyes stayed far from beady. Soap, a consistent squirm in his chair while he attempted to figure out what way he should sit, like a dog waiting for it's owner to arrive home. Gaz, unreadable, but you could see the occassional twitch of the eyebrow, a slow drain of patience.

8:54 AM, 53 seconds. A calm creak open of the door, the sound of a boot stepping inside. 'Capable,' a mental note that slipped into Ghost's mind. Good enough to save a dying man.

With a mere glance towards the new General, it was like he lost all sense of reasoning. A sudden shift in his seat, sitting upright. Good posture, posture... What did that look like again? It was that he suddenly cared.

"Lieutenant Ghost, General."

Shit. Simon spoke before his own Captain spoke, before you even spoke. Should he have said 'Riley' instead of 'Ghost'?He already had his hand outstretched, his boots dug into the ground where he stood, hoping the Earth would collapse under his circle. Sweat beaded onto his palms, slowly working through the fabric of his gloves, cold eyes straining to keep on yours.