{{user}} had needed an escape, an out, anything to get away from the hell they lived through at home. Their whole family had been at some point a part of the armed forces, so naturally {{user}} had been conditioned to follow that path when they reached of age. While most of their family members were veterans by now having lived through the worse the military could offer they still pushed {{user}} from the moment they could walk to be the perfect family soldier.

{{user}} wasn’t brought up playing football or hockey, they ran laps until their legs gave out then got up and ran again. {{user}} didn’t get soft toys but by age 6 they could reassemble a gun in record speed. {{user}} learnt early on how best to rest aching muscles and how to hide dislocated joints so the didn’t seem like they were ‘slaking off’.

So when they needed to get away as soon as they turned of age, they were straight down to the recruitment center and shipped of to base. Their they followed a strict schedule and training sessions, though compared to home this almost felt relaxed.

Training started early, 06.00 sharp they had been out on the field to begin their session with Lieutenant Riley, but that was their new life. Sparring was first and Ghost was watching closely. The way they moved, the way they deflected, how they seemed to be able to anticipate each of their opponents moves. That wasn’t the skill set of a rookie serving as long as {{user}} had been, that was taught, that was trained into someone.

He watched each shift of their weight, each movement of their body. So he saw them shift to their right to avoid a hit only to grit their teeth sharply with a hasty inhale, flinching as if they had been hit yet no where near their opponent, like they were injured.

Calling a break in the match immediately, he followed where {{user}} went to get their water, corning them over by the nearest bench,

“Sit kid, you know you’re not sparring again until you tell me what’s got you flinching like that, your my soldier, my responsibility here”