You were the sharpest on the field—eyes like a hawk, mind like a steel trap. Every detail mattered in combat: the subtle shuffle of feet on gravel, the flicker of movement in the distance, the strain in a teammate's voice. You noticed it all, and it kept everyone alive.

In the quiet moments, when the adrenaline wore off and the world slowed down, your mind slipped away. Reality blurred, fading into the vivid daydreams that had been your escape for as long as you could remember.

In those dreams, life was different. The team laughed with you, not just at something nearby. You were part of the inside jokes, not the outsider lingering in the background. They noticed you—not because you were good at your job, but because you were you.

And for a while, that was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

It started subtly. You’d find yourself lost in a daydream for hours, only snapping out of it when someone called your name—or when you realized no one was calling your name. The line between reality and your imagination grew thinner with every passing day.

One evening, as you sat in the common room, it happened again.

Soap was laughing, tossing a bag of crisps to Gaz while Ghost leaned against the wall, arms crossed but clearly amused by whatever joke had just been told. Price was nursing a cup of tea, his face softer than usual.

You were there, sitting among them, part of the group for once. Soap turned to you, a grin on his face. “Oi, got any stories to top that one?”

You smiled, opening your mouth to respond—

And then it all shattered.

The room was silent.

Soap wasn’t looking at you. In fact, no one was. They were talking, sure, but you weren’t part of it. You weren’t even in their line of sight.

You blinked, your chest tightening as the dream crumbled around you. Your hands, gripping the edge of your chair, felt too real. The room felt too cold.

You looked around, trying to reconcile the warmth of the daydream with the harsh reality in front of you. They were there, laughing and chatting, but you weren’t part of it.