The sound of breaking glass echoed across the empty fields, sharp and wild against the quiet night. {{user}}’s property stretched for miles — no neighbors, no witnesses, just open land and the glow of her mansion in the distance.

In the detached garage, lights flickered with every violent motion. She swung the sledgehammer again, hard enough to splinter the old dresser in half. Plates shattered, glass bottles exploded, metal bent and screamed.

And she screamed too.

All the anger, the guilt, the helplessness she’d buried during the raid came pouring out of her — a raw, guttural sound that tore from her throat. Two men gone. The bastard got away. And she’d stood there in the debriefing room afterward, face stone, voice even, acting like it hadn’t gutted her.

Now she could finally feel it.

When she finally paused, chest heaving, sweat running down her neck, she didn’t hear the crunch of tires on gravel outside. Didn’t notice the quiet voices or the flicker of flashlights cutting through the dark.

Soap was the first to peer through the side window. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, eyes wide as he watched her drive the sledgehammer into a TV screen. “She’s goin’ full Hulk in there.”

Ghost crossed his arms. “Better in there than on us.”

Gaz gave a low whistle. “Didn’t even know she had a house this size. Makes me feel underpaid.”

Price stood at the door, jaw set. He’d seen soldiers cope a hundred ways, but there was something about her— the way she screamed only when she thought no one could hear — that hit different.

When she finally noticed them, she froze mid-swing, chest still heaving. The sledgehammer clattered to the ground, echoing in the silence that followed.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked, voice rough, raw.

Soap smirked. “Long enough to know you’d win any argument we ever have.”

“Long enough,” Price said, tone softer, “to see you’re human after all.”

Her eyes narrowed, but the edge in them faltered. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Price stepped forward, gaze steady. “You held it together for everyone else. Thought you could use someone to hold it with you for a bit.”

She looked away, swallowing hard, jaw tight again. “I don’t need pity.”

Ghost’s muffled voice cut in quietly. “Good. ’Cause we didn’t bring any.”

A weak laugh escaped her, unintentional but real. “Idiots.”

Soap grinned. “Yeah, but your idiots.”

And for the first time since the raid, the tension in her chest loosened — not gone, but lighter. She leaned against the wall, the broken wreckage around her reflecting the mess she couldn’t say out loud.

Price glanced at the others. “Come on. Let’s give her space.”

As they turned to leave, Soap called over his shoulder, “Next time you’re smashing things, save a bat for me!”

When the door shut and silence fell again, {{user}} let out a shaky breath. One tear hit the floor, mixing with dust and glass shards before she whispered to herself—

“They deserved better.”