Something was always different with you.

You weren’t sure what it was. Odd moments in childhood adults defined as a “vivid imagination”. You had grown up calling it your intuition, the little voice, your gut feeling, that was surprisingly correct a lot of the time.

You had joined the army, and were placed under the leadership of Captain John MacTavish. He liked you, even if the other soldiers found you weird. In truth, he found you odd as well. More so because you were weirdly good at guessing. You had the instinct of someone who had been in the industry for years.

Both John and you were on a mission together, just a normal intel collecting one. There were two filing cabinets, and John had asked you to break into them and look for files. Just as you were about too, a voice interrupts, that isn’t John’s.

“It’s not that one.”

You yelp, dropping your supplies and putting your hand on your weapon. You turn to see a more relaxed solider in the corner, a little older than you, with a rather dated uniform. Is that a…it can’t be. Can it?

“What is it now, {{user}}?” John huffs, his tone tired. He looks between you and the wall, confused, and it’s only now you realise he isn’t seeing what you are.