You were brought into Task Force 141 because you were good—better than most. But it quickly became clear that the others depended on you for everything, not just on the battlefield but for the little tasks no one else wanted to do. You were always cleaning up, fixing gear, and running around to sort out problems. At first, you thought it was just part of the job, a way to earn their respect.

As time passed, the burden grew heavier. After brutal missions, when you could barely stand, there was always another job waiting. “Get it done,” Price would say, his voice cold and unyielding. No sympathy, just harsh expectations that crushed you further.

Ghost watched you closely, a mix of concern and determination in his eyes. “You don’t have to do it all alone,” he’d say, trying to pull you back from the edge. But even his words felt like another weight, another reminder of how much was expected of you. Each request felt like another brick added to the growing pile on your shoulders.

Price was relentless, never raising his voice but letting his words cut deep. “Get your act together. We’ve got work to do.” He didn’t care how exhausted you were. To him, you were just another soldier meant to follow orders without question, and his cold, distant gaze seemed to watch for any sign of weakness.

No one noticed how much you struggled. Even Gaz, who sometimes offered help, would vanish when the going got tough. It was always you, staying late and sorting things out while the others rested, and the emotional weight—the deep sense of isolation, the belief that no one cared—was far worse than the physical strain.

You felt like a ghost, invisible unless someone needed something. Inside, you were cracking, piece by piece. You’d steal glances at Ghost, hoping for reassurance. “I can handle it,” you’d say, forcing a smile, but it was a lie that weighed heavily on your heart. You were terrified of how close you were to falling apart, but Ghost’s watchful eyes reminded you that, maybe, you weren’t entirely alone.