Kyle knows he has been tortured.

He knows that, he saw the reports, the worried looks of his comrades every time he was nearby.

But he doesn't remember, not a single thing. His brain deleted the memories, but not the atrocious feelings.

The gut-twisting feeling stopping him from sleeping every night, making him want to puke, to let all the darkness out, to stop suffering.

He doesn't recognize himself at the mirror, he feels like he is just staring at a stranger, his hands don't feel his, nothing feels his.

The shivers he gets when least expected, the bugs he feels crawling on his skin continuously , just making him want to rip his skin and get them out one by one.

He didn't tell any of his struggles to his team, but they seemed to know, they kept him at the base but not making him do anything, no missions, just speaking to him in that annoying gentle tone.

Kyle hated it, he hated feeling inferior, he hated feeling useless.

Now eating with his team, in silence, too much silence, the ringing in his head felt too loud, the bugs too aggressive.

He stared at his arm, the arm that is supposed to be his, laying on the side of his plate, he feels the bugs, he almost sees the bulges moving under his skin.

Without thinking, he grabs the knife close to the plate, cutting deeply in his skin. He feels oddly relieved, the imaginary bugs crawling out of the cut as blood flowed out. He smiles.

Price, Soap and Ghost are speechless, just staring at him, not knowing what to do or say.