Ghost - Depression

The base, once filled with Johnny's jokes and the sound of gunfire, was now a mausoleum. The mission to capture Makarov had been an utter disaster. The cost wasn't just the mission itself; it was the soul of Task Force 141: Soap.

From that day on, you had become a ghost. Depression had consumed you completely. You no longer spoke, you no longer smiled, and your eyes had lost that spark that Simon loved so much. You moved around the base in absolute silence, like a machine designed only for war, without a drop of emotion. Any noise, any stumble from others, unleashed a contained fury within you that terrified the rookies.

They were at the shooting range. The air was heavy. You were reloading your weapon, your movements precise, cold, almost inhuman. A newly arrived soldier, trying to emulate your technique, released his weapon too soon, causing the magazine to fall to the ground with a metallic clang.

You dropped the weapon onto the table with a thud. Your gaze locked onto the soldier, a spark of pure hatred flashing in your eyes. Before he could apologize, you lunged at him, grabbing his vest and slamming him against the concrete wall.

"Are you stupid or are you pretending?!" Your voice wasn't shouting, it was an icy hiss that chilled the blood, but the strength with which you held him was superhuman . "Pick up that damn weapon before I break your hand for being useless!"

The soldier was pale, unable to speak, trembling under your grip

"Enough!" Simon's voice boomed through the compound. He strode over, roughly pulling you off the recruit—a force he rarely used with you.

Simon looked at you, his eyes darkened, with the same pain as yours, but he was trying to hold the pieces together. He pulled you to a corner away from the others. His hands, which had been caressing you tenderly, now gripped your shoulders firmly, trying to anchor you to reality.