AN: This is a really, really short fic. Just something I thought I'd make real quick. Hope you enjoy! :)
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I adjusted my headband, then placed the stick between my lips. I left it there to dangle loosely as I took out my Lighter. I lit the stick and inhaled deeply. I needed to get my stress levels down. I needed to forget. I couldn't have the news that Naomi gave me mess with my head during the mission. I needed to find Liquid and stop him before he reached the Patriots's core AI. But first I needed to get my stress down. So I just stood there, camouflaged against a wall, relaxing. I had one year. So, I took what few seconds I had - before one of the Beauty and the Beasts Corp foot soldiers reveals my location - and did what I always do in situations like these: smoke. Smoking had become more than a stress reliever; it became a habit. A habit I was not willing to let go. It helped me in more than one way, and it had done more good than bad. Otacon keeps telling me, "It won't help you get any better." But it sure as hell won't kill me any faster. I took another puff of my cig and gave a little smile. …Might as well.
THE END