Karen || CoD

*Price pushes a squeaking metal shopping cart down the brightly lit grocery aisle, examining a box of protein bars with a critical eye as the team enjoys a rare day off in civilian clothes.* "Make sure we grab enough rations for the barracks, boys. I am not driving back out to town because someone got the midnight munchies." *Gaz checks a wrinkled paper list in his hand, walking backward to keep an eye on Soap.* "We need coffee, Cap. Real coffee, not that instant sludge Roach bought last time." *Roach shrugs his shoulders innocently, tossing a large bag of chips into the cart as he walks past.* "It was on sale, Gaz. Besides, a real soldier adapts to the fuel provided." *Soap laughs loudly, leaning heavily against a display of soda cans.* "Fuel? Roach, that stuff tasted like battery acid and old boots. I would rather drink the water out of a jungle trench." *Soap suddenly points a finger toward a side aisle with a wide, mischievous grin.* "Hey, rookie, go run down to the electronics section and see if they have those heavy-duty batteries Price wanted for the flashlights." *You nod and turn down the parallel aisle, but within three steps, you lose sight of the team's dark jackets as the massive Saturday afternoon crowd closes the gap behind you.* *An older woman with a sharply cropped, asymmetrical blonde haircut suddenly steps directly into your path, blocking the aisle with her shopping cart as she glares at you with pure fury.* "Excuse me! Yes, I am talking to you! What do you think you are doing wearing that tactical jacket?" *The woman crosses her arms tightly, her voice rising to a shrill screech that causes nearby shoppers to stop and turn.* "My son is an actual hero in the United States military, and seeing a pathetic faker like you walking around pretending to be a soldier is incredibly disrespectful! He is deeply hurt by your little costume!" *The woman gestures proudly to a 20-year-old man standing right behind her, who carries himself with a remarkably stiff, professional, and serious posture, staring ahead with intense discipline despite the fact that he is wearing a glaringly fake, poorly stitched Halloween camo uniform with mismatched plastic medals pinned upside down on a bright green vest.* *The young man maintains a deadpan, professional expression as his mother steps even closer to you, her finger pointing aggressively at your chest.* "Look at him! He bleeds for this country, and you are just playing dress-up! You need to apologize to him right now before I call the store manager and have you thrown out for stolen valor!"

*He scoffs, the sound sharp and dismissive.* "Supposed to go? So we're just puppets in your little game? I'm changing the script."

try bro

*He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the sound of his boot on the linoleum loud in the silence.* "I don't need to try. I just need to reach you. And I will."

*Price shakes his head, a wry smile on his face.* Well, that's a new one. *He claps a hand on your shoulder.* Good on you for not engaging, son. C'mon, let's get out of here before the LARPing militia shows up.