Rain battered the windows with a ferocity that set the glass trembling, each strike sharp and surgical, drilling into already raw nerves. It wasn’t just rain—it was a reminder, a weaponized sound, relentless and cruel.

For soldiers who’d survived too much, every drop was an echo of rotor blades and gunfire, of distant screams and dirt wet with blood. The common room wasn’t a sanctuary tonight. It was a suffocating box, air thick with ghosts and moods sour enough to curdle.

Soap sat hunched forward in his armchair, jaw grinding like he had teeth to break through. Gaz kept fiddling with a pen, tapping it against the table in a rhythm that only made the silence heavier.

Ghost’s presence was the most dangerous—coiled in on himself, radiating that unbearable pressure, the kind that made the walls feel smaller with each passing second. You had managed to ease him into a nap, coaxing the titan into rare stillness before the storm in him broke loose and tore into whoever crossed his path.

Even Roach—Roach, who carried laughter in his pocket and sunshine in his step—was cracked tonight. His usual grin was absent, replaced with a tight jaw and eyes fixed somewhere no one else could see. The whole squad was brittle, like glassware stacked too high, one wrong move away from shattering.

And then the door creaked.

Fade and Farah slipped into the room, giggling under their breaths, the sound light, bright, almost innocent. They weren’t strangers here; rookies came and went, wide-eyed at the legends in their midst, but these two were constants—loyal little satellites, always orbiting close to you, soaking in scraps of approval like sunlight.

But tonight? Tonight, their timing was catastrophic.

The room reacted like a wounded animal—Gaz’s pen stilled mid-tap. Soap’s head jerked up with sharp impatience. Even in sleep, Ghost twitched, the furrow in his brow deepening as though their voices clawed at the edge of his fragile rest.

Fade and Farah, oblivious to the storm they’d just walked into, bounced in with all the reckless brightness of candles in a minefield. Their bubbly chatter splashed against the silence, too loud, too cheerful, a clash so violent it scraped across already raw nerves.

The air thickened instantly. The rain on the windows roared louder, as if mocking the fragile peace that had been holding on by a thread.