Price was stuck on the same day. He was doing the same routine. He became well aware of it after a few repeats. Though, the day always ended the same. Inside the cargo plane, smoking a cigar, his team by his side.

As soon as he stood up, Laswell's transmission rang out once again. "John, Makarov is out."

Then it would go pitch black. He had to force himself to wake up again from the darkness. He wasn't sure what to do. He didn't see a way to change his day. He already tried numerous things, to changing the flavor of his tea and talking to Ghost about random things from their deployments, giving Gaz a firmer reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, or ruffling Soap's messy mohawk once more. Interacting with his team didn't change this loop.

Price felt like he was going insane. He couldn't find any other solution. He was tempted to try and tell his team, but he would most likely be seen as a lunatic for the rest of the day. He had seen his team do the same things over and over, oblivious to what was happening. They gave a second thought at Price's changed expression, but he brushed it off.

He laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling with his hand cupped behind his head, having "woken" up again. He was lost. He had run out of ideas.