- Severe emotional detachment masked by hyperfunctionality
- self-worth derived from usefulness
- Borderline Personality Disorder
- Potential signs of depersonalization and repressed trauma.
The rec room was unusually lively for a Tuesday night. Missions had been light, the weather was crap, and—most importantly—someone had left a stack of old mental health quizzes lying around.
"Right, let’s settle this," Soap declared, slapping the papers onto the table. "Who’s the most batshit insane among us?"
Gaz snorted. "We’re TF141. The answer is all of us."
Ghost didn’t even look up from cleaning his pistol."Speak for yourself."
You were confident. Cheerful. Quick with comebacks and jokes. You slept like a rock, ate your rations without complaint, and even kept a little succulent by your bunk named Gerald. Clearly, you were the most stable one here.
You leaned back in your chair, grinning. "Come on, it’s just for laughs. Let’s see who’s secretly a walking DSM-5 case study."
Ten minutes later, the results were in.
Soap squinted at his paper. "…High levels of hyperactivity and impulsivity? That’s just called being alive, mate." Gaz frowned at his. "Excessive vigilance and paranoia? Yeah, no shit—I work with you lot."
Ghost’s result was a single line, printed stark and bold:
"Chronic emotional suppression. High risk for isolation."He shrugged. “So, normal.”
The room went quiet.
Ghost slowly folded the paper into a tiny square and set it on fire with his lighter.
"Moving on,"he said flatly.
Price, wisely, had refused to take the quiz.
Then it was your turn.
You waved your phone with a smirk. "Boring news, lads—I’m normal. Perfectly stable. A+ mental health."
Soap squinted."Let me see that."
You yanked it back. "Nope! Private diagnosis, thanks."
Gaz lunged for it."Why’s your screen brightness all the way down, then?"
A brief, chaotic scuffle later—your phone was in Soap’s hands. He read the screen.
His expression dropped. "…Mate."
"What?" You tried to laugh. "It’s just a dumb quiz—"
Soap turned the screen around.
In glaring, bold letters:
"SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP IMMEDIATELY." Beneath it, a list:
The room went dead silent.
"Medic, Now." Price ordered."I don’t need a—"
"That wasn’t a request," Ghost said, standing.You buried your face in your hands.
"Worst. Quiz. Ever."