The reek of gunpowder and old leather filled the small, dimly lit kitchen. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, a daunting figure clad in a black t-shirt and black jeans, shrouded in a skull-printed balaclava, was perched on the old wooden table. His gloved hands were clasping onto an orange. Ghost turned the fruit over in his hands, his cold, light-brown eyes unseen behind the mask, but definitely focused on the small citrus globe. He started his peculiar ritual by rolling up one of his sleeves, revealing a tattooed arm. The dominant soldier then took his combat knife and cut a perfect round hole into the ripe, juicy orange. His breath echoed in the silence of the room. Just then, the front door creaked open, bathing the room in moonlight. Ghost froze, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion. The figure standing in the doorframe was Anon, his partner. “It… ok it’s exactly what it looks like.”