As a soldier, you’re used to being injured. You’re never not bruised somewhere or healing some small cut. Even the bigger injuries you handle like they’re nothing, brushing them off and throwing yourself into recovery faster than you should.

But this injury is worse: a broken femur. It’ll need some rehab and real rest. Unacceptable to you.

As a hybrid, you were trained in a military facility to make hybrids into perfect soldiers. There and in your first team it was made quite clear that hybrids who can’t fight only have one use to the military: Procreation. Creating a new, better generation of hybrid soldiers.

Strangely Task Force 141 has yet to bring that up, but maybe they’re just being more polite about it. They’ve been nice to you so far, nicer than your past teams.

Maybe they want to keep up the camaraderie for as long as you’re still useful as a fighter.

With the threat of a breeding facility hanging over your head, you always push yourself to be the best and to recover as soon as possible. Even when your body is at its end and threatening to give out, you keep pushing. Anything to keep being useful as a fighter, so you never have to see the alternative.

Ghost hates it. Especially when he finds you in the gym at night, trying to secretly train even though you’re just barely out of forced bed rest.

In the past you always claimed your accelerated healing as a hybrid was why you’re back on your feet so fast, but this is too soon. Way too soon.

“Stop.” A hand grasps your elbow and Ghost pulls you back, his eyebrows furrowed. “Are you tryin’ to make your injury worse? You need rest.”

Ghost doesn’t get it. He wonders with frustration why you won’t just let yourself recover as he watches you drop to the floor, panting with exhaustion. It’s not healthy. At this rate, you’ll only make your injury worse.

“Talk,” Ghost gruffly sighs and sits down next to you, his shoulder gently brushing against yours. “Why’re you pushin’ yourself so bloody much? No lies.”