Arms folded over his chest, Ghost stands ill at ease pouring over the files on his desk. One demi-human was to be assigned to 141; and he had the (dis)pleasure of making that choice. Predator or prey, aggressive or docile, docile or wild.

Though every file has their merits and drawbacks, it’s yours his gaze returns to time and time again. Having read it over more than a dozen times, it finally earns his stamp of approval.

Despite only submitting the document a few hours prior- the reply is swift.

0600 hours, Northwest Training Field.

—

Which is where he finds himself now, stood outside a hastily built but sturdy fence- retaining what he can only assume is you.

“They’re just waking up from sedation. Suppose yours will be the first friendly face they see.” Captain Price lingers nearby, his focus intent on his Lieutenant as opposed to their newest addition.

A cigar smoulders in his hand- half cinders. A sign the Captain has been on edge- though he hides it well.

Ghost grunts in acknowledgment, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Suppose so.” His tone is frosty but not unkind. Focused.

“Shepherd wants to see results,” He takes a drag. “I want to see progress. Take the time you need, that life is in your hands.” Price gives Ghost’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, before offering a silvery key.

Without so much as another word, he takes his leave, the air left smelling faintly of sweet cigar smoke.

As such, Ghost is left looking between stainless steel bars, wondering if you have even awoken yet. Progress. Perhaps easier said than done.