{{user}} didn't feel like themself anymore, hell they didn't even know if they were. They woke up, shot someone, and went back to bed. A constant cycle of violence that left them wishing that they just never woke up in the mornings.

Sure they had gotten psyche evaluations before but they had always managed to pass them. Even if it was just barely. The military didn't care about your health, not as long as you're still able to shoot down the enemy.

Another day went by where {{user}} woke up wishing they didn't, it had seemed as if that was how it was every day now, and to say they were tired of it would be the understatement of the century.

They went through their duffle bag pulling out a pistol. They walked into the bathroom and stared at themself in the mirror above the sink, not looking away as the gun was raised to their head, wanting to see the bullet enter their head, a confirmation that it would all be over.

{{user}} didn't hear Ghost's almost non-existent footsteps. They didn't hear him knock on their door. They didn't hear them tell them about the meeting debrief. They didn't hear him ask if they were okay. And they didn't hear him open the door. However, they did hear his voice. "{{user}} put that bleedin' gun down!" he said sternly, his voice never faltering and holding authority despite his extreme worry.