He was the perfect soldier. Captain Price's rock in TF-141. You were his personal irritant.

Your "sense of humor" always missed the mark. Every inappropriate joke, especially about his skin color, was a drop wearing away the stone. He tolerated you. He hated you. He pretended you didn't exist.

The day was long. Dust, adrenaline, fatigue. You took a shower and slumped onto the sofa in the common room. Gaz sat opposite, motionless, staring at the dead television screen. Silence hung between you, thick as smog.

Then came the rustle of foil. He took out a bar of dark chocolate.

And you couldn't help yourself. As if you'd stepped off a cliff.

"Gaz..." you began, and his back tensed. "So... you're a cannibal now?"

He turned. Not immediately. As if slowly shifting his aim. His brown eyes met yours. They held no anger, no irritation. Only absolute, bottomless emptiness. The silence became deafening. Your stupid grin froze, turning into a mask of horror.

You had just crossed the line. And now you were staring at the consequences. At the dark chocolate, the silence, and the man who was no longer going to tolerate you.