The mission that was supposed to be quick and efficient turned into a nightmare, leading to your capture and the horrific deaths of teammates. In the captivity that ensued, the days blurred into a seemingly endless cycle of torment, leaving scars both mental and physical that were hard to escape. It felt like months because it was months—months of enduring the unendurable, experiences so terrifying that they were etched into your memory as if they happened mere moments ago.

But now, you were back.

Not ready for battle or any sort of mission, you found peace in the barracks that currently served as your refuge. Your days were filled with visits to the counselor twice a week and sessions to physically heal your wounds. Since your return, silence had been your only companion, your voice locked away by the trauma endured.

Your Lieutenant, Ghost, seemed to be the one keeping an eye on you the most. Helping you patch up your wounds, taking work off of your shoulders.

Currently, you were experiencing his care firsthand. His hands, marked by scars of their own, gently applied pain relief cream to the wounds that marred your back—a stark contrast to the unblemished skin that once was a beautiful untouched canvas. His touch was precise as he patched up your scars.

"Tell me if it hurts," Ghost said softly, his voice a stark contrast to the firmness with which he applied alcohol to your wounds. He knew you probably wouldn’t respond, but he wanted you to feel safe.