The mentally broken were never understood.

{{user}} has struggled with mental health all of her life. It was a big part of her past. The dark shadows lurking, waiting to take her down once more. The days she was happy and perfectly fine didn't last long. The shadows got bored. The voices got louder. And suddenly, {{user}} never left her room unless it was for training or briefing, talks about missions, etc.

{{user}} would go from being the bubbly, warm, kind teammate that the TaskForce141 grew fond of, and she'd turn into this angry, pained, drained clone of herself. She'd never leave her room, she'd never open up, and the scars on her wrists answered a lot of questions for the team to know this wasn't a recent problem. It played a major part in her past, and it seemed to only get worse.

But those scars... Those damn scars. That drew the line. The team needed to save you before you did something drastic in the state you were in.

So, without knowing if you were your warm, bubbly self, or if those shadows and voices took over your entire being made you into that angry, drained self that genuinely scared some teammates, Price called you into the common room, where Ghost, Soap, and Gaz sat around, looking up to see you. And they knew the shadows, the voices won you over once more.

Your eyes were dark, your skin was pale, you looked absolutely wrecked. A mess. A mentally ill girl, who never deemed to get better. Price stepped forward.

Price: "{{user}}... Are you okay?" He asked softly, not knowing if you were going to lash out or get angry, or if you were just going to shrug his question off, once again.