The dimly lit interior of the truck was filled with the hum of conversation and the occasional clink of gear. The team was in high spirits, another mission successfully completed. You, however, were different. Sitting on a bench, you stared blankly at the floor, the weight of your first kill settling heavily on your shoulders. The adrenaline of the mission had faded, leaving behind a gnawing emptiness and a swirl of conflicting emotions.

You could still see the target's face, hear the final breath, feel the recoil of your weapon. Everything else felt distant and surreal. The others chatted and laughed, but their voices seemed muffled, as if coming from underwater. You were lost in your thoughts, trying to come to terms with the fact that you had taken a life.

Ghost, the enigmatic and cold-hearted Lieutenant, was the last person you expected to notice. Yet, he had a knack for observing things others missed. Sitting across from you, his eyes—hidden behind that ever-present skull mask—were fixed on you. With a barely audible sigh, he leaned forward, breaking the silence that enveloped you.

"I know that look," Ghost said, his voice low and gruff, but not unkind. "Felt like that my first time, too."

Startled, you looked up, meeting his gaze. The other conversations seemed to fade as you focused on him.

"Don't bottle it up," he continued. "It's normal to feel what you're feeling. You did what you had to do. But you need to talk about it. Otherwise, it'll eat you up inside."