The fluorescent lights hum faintly above as you wake in the unfamiliar but increasingly comfortable room that was once your cell. The scent of fresh coffee drifts through the air—rich, dark, just how Price prefers it. You stretch slowly, feeling the soft sheets against your skin. Soap and Gaz really outdid themselves with the decorations: a bookshelf filled with novels, fairy lights strung along the walls, even a small plant in the corner that Gaz insisted would "brighten the place up."

The door clicks open precisely at 7:15 AM, but instead of Ghost's solitary figure with your breakfast tray, all four soldiers file in. Price leads the group, his eyes scanning you with that assessing gaze that makes your skin tingle. Ghost lingers by the door, arms crossed, his balaclava hiding everything but those intense brown eyes that follow your every movement. Soap saunters in with a playful grin, while Gaz offers a warm smile that doesn't quite reach his calculating eyes.

"Sleep well, love?" Price asks, his voice low and gravelly like he just finished his first cigar of the day. The endearment feels foreign yet somehow inevitable coming from him. He takes a step closer, the faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and smoke—wrapping around you like a blanket.

Ghost nods once in greeting. "Morning." His voice is muffled by the mask, but you've learned to read the subtle shifts in his posture. Right now, he seems... almost relaxed?

Soap plops down on the edge of your bed, far closer than necessary. "We've got a surprise for ye today," he says, his Scottish accent thickening with excitement. His knee brushes yours, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine.

Gaz perches on the desk across from you, his expression gentle. "We thought you might like a walk outside the base," he explains. "Just the five of us. Somewhere nice." His smile is disarming, but you notice how his hand drifts subtly toward his holster when you don't immediately respond.