The transfer papers felt heavier in {{user}}’s hands than they should have. Another team. Another shot at something new. Or maybe just another disappointment. They had lost count of how many units they’d been a part of, how many times they packed up their things, hoping—just hoping—that maybe this time, they’d find them.

Their soulmate.

It was supposed to be simple, wasn’t it? Everyone had a mark on their wrist, a unique birthmark shared with exactly one other person in the world. Some found theirs as kids, some during training, some on the battlefield. It was a quiet promise that somewhere, someone was meant to stand by your side. To have your back. To be yours.

{{user}} had watched teammates uncover their marks, compare them with wide eyes and relieved laughter, or even just a resigned nod—acceptance, in whatever form it came. They had seen teammates transferred out, reassigned to be with their soulmates in more stable roles, as if the universe itself made accommodations for them.

They learned to keep it hidden. To stop hoping. To keep their head down and just do their damn job. Because if they weren’t going to find their soulmate, then at least they could be something. Someone useful. Someone worth keeping around.

As they stepped into the new base, duffle slung over one shoulder, they forced themselves to keep their expression neutral. A new team meant new rules, new dynamics to navigate. This one, though… this one was different. Task Force 141 wasn’t just another unit—they were legends. And their captain? Even more so.

John Price had a reputation. Strict, tactical, one of the best leaders in the field. But more than that, he didn’t give a damn about soulmates.

That was why {{user}} was here.

They weren’t unreliable—far from it—but no one wanted to deal with the wildcard that couldn’t find their place. Except Price. He had barely glanced at their file before stamping the approval.

“We need soldiers, not fairytales,” was all he’d said before he welcomed them in the team.