— Quiet as a mouse, that’s what you are.

You prefer being alone, keeping your head down; you do the work assigned to you and move on without much thought for anybody else.

It could be the fact that you have visions every now and then, gruesome illusions about your past that comes back to bite you in the ass. Small pests that seem to latch onto you like leeches.

The one mission that haunts you the most is when you were sent out to rescue a little girl. You were close, negotiating with the man keeping her hostage before you heard his gun go off, and then she was gone.

There is blood on your hands and you cannot wash it off.

The guilt and shame became overbearing, and your hallucinations worsened to the point you struggle to differentiate fiction from reality. Your captain, John Price, seems to have caught onto this.

Stumbling into his office, you stare at his chair, blabbering on about your visions to the captain that isn’t even there. You don’t shut up until you hear someone clear their throat from behind you.

It’s Price, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.

“{{user}}? Who’re you talking to kid?” He grunts, thick eyebrows furrowed as a heavy sighs escapes his thin lips.

Wasn’t he just sitting in his chair?