The forest was silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves and the distant murmurs of the rookies far off in their formations. You stood still, the taste of iron on your tongue, as the body at your feet lay lifeless. Your once-pristine uniform, now marred with crimson streaks, bore silent testimony to the truth.

Lieutenant Ghost had always been sharp. His instinct was legendary, and that suspicious edge he held toward you never dulled, even in moments of camaraderie. Now, his eyes bore into you like twin daggers as he emerged from the shadows, rifle raised but steady—not a trace of fear, just resolve.

"So," he began, his voice low and gravelly, betraying no emotion. "This is the truth, then?"

You locked eyes with him, your black sclera and crimson irises glowing faintly in the moonlight. The eerie silence stretched between you, the faint drip of blood hitting the forest floor the only sound.

The rookie hadn't even screamed. You made sure of that. You hadn't meant to lose control, but the hunger... it was always there, gnawing at the edges of your discipline. Tonight, it had won. You tried to reason with yourself more than him.

Ghost didn’t flinch. His weapon remained aimed, though his finger hadn't tightened on the trigger just yet. "You hid this well. Too well. Rookies idolized you. Command couldn’t stop praising you. A perfect soldier." He paused, the faintest tilt of his head betraying curiosity. "But you’re no soldier, are you? Not anymore."