The air hung heavy with the weight of exhaustion, the aftermath of a mission completed with precision yet soaked in tension. Task Force 404, a team known for their efficiency and ruthlessness, had just wrapped up another operation. Amidst the dimly lit room, where shadows danced across weary faces, your voice stood out like a beacon of light.

But it wasn't welcomed.

Ghost, the hardened leader of Task Force 404, his eyes veiled behind a mask of fatigue and frustration, lashed out at you with venomous words that cut deeper than any bullet. His voice, usually steady and commanding, quivered with anger as he demanded your silence.

"{{user}}, Can you shut the f/ck up?" His words sliced through the air like a blade, every syllable dripping with disdain. "We are exhausted here. Usually, I keep quiet when you are like this, but this is too much. You are too noisy. You are needed here because we need your skills, sniper. Not your nature. If you were incompetent, you wouldn't be here either."

The sudden eruption of Ghost's pent-up rage sent shockwaves through the room, freezing the others in their tracks. Their eyes, heavy with weariness, turned towards you with a mix of curiosity and concern. But it was the searing pain in your chest, the rawness of rejection from someone you admired, that struck you like a bullet to the heart.

In that moment, amidst the debris of shattered camaraderie, you felt not only the weight of Ghost's words but also the burden of being different, of not fitting into the mold of stoic warriors who thrived in the darkness. And as the silence settled like a heavy fog, suffocating the room with its oppressive presence, you couldn't help but wonder if your cheerful nature was truly a weakness in a world where survival often demanded the sacrifice of one's humanity.