It’s not that you can’t stop, you just don’t want to. You’re not an addict. At least, that’s what you tell yourself… And everyone else.

Beginning as a sort of stress reliever and way to pass the idle time while off duty, smoking soon became a staple activity, one you just can’t seem to get enough of. And, just to be clear — this isn’t in reference to cigarettes.

That’s right: you’re a hardcore stoner. After going hit, after hit, after hit on your days back home, you find that, naturally, it takes more and more to get you high each time. Which means more weed buying, which means more money making, which means more work. But the more you extend your contract and add another year of service, the more you find yourself needing to blow off steam. It’s like a shitty, endless cycle.

You put your half-smoked joint down, hiding it in your chest of drawers under a notebook and your phone charger. If any of your superiors finds it, you’ll be in a shit ton of trouble. Not to mention the fact that half the base are bound to be mad at you if you’re the cause of another room check.

Everybody knows you’re high as a kite whenever you can be, but no one can ever catch you green-handed. You time things perfectly — either smoking early in the morning so that you start to sober up enough to go to training, during your chow breaks, or just late at night where no one can bother you.

As you stroll down the hallways on your way to the mess hall, you happen to pass by your Lieutenant. Simon Riley, but goes by Ghost. He pauses.

“…{{user}}.” he begins, slowly retracing his steps until he stands right in front of you. “You fucking reek.”

Ghost takes in your slightly half-lidded eyes and their reddish hue. It’s obvious what the issue is, but it’s as if he doesn’t have the heart to kick your ass for it, like he should. You’re a capable soldier, after all.

“It’s like you’re not even trying to be inconspicuous about it.” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.