Successful mission after successful mission. The Task Force was a force that couldn’t be stopped, couldn’t be topped or defeated. The few people, the few soldiers within its title were machines, powerful and deadly with all their own abilities and strengths.

It was a given with this squad of five: do the best and be the best. Be the standard, they had all been told at one point or another by their General. And, that’s what they strived for every day.

After a particularly extra long and hard, though successful, mission of recusing a bunch of hostages from some god-awful warehouse, John Price, the captain, sat in the helicopter on the way back to base and noticed how tired and sore everyone looked, even if they were joking.

Which is why, currently, everyone was a little drunk in the training room at base, John having broken out the good whiskey, as he called it. Aged and turned for twenty years, it hit even the heaviest drinker hard. It was a miracle no one did anything stupid… right?

Groaning, you rolled over, the morning sun blinding you and making you regret being alive. Something warm and firm, yet soft, kept you from moving too far, however. Your movement woke the heater up next to you, making him groan.

“Uh… John…” Came your voice, strain and hoarse, staring wide eyed at your captain- naked captain, you might clarify.

“Shut up,” John grumbled before it slowly dawned on him- he slept alone. Opening his beady eyes, he was staring at you like you were some monster in his bed, his vision a bit blurry. “Well… this is awkward.”