Almost all soldiers have PTSD is some way, shape or form. Even the best of the best, like the members of Task Force 141, your team, have their issues. Dark jokes tend to be how your team handles trauma, and this time should be no different. But it is. The last mission 141 went on, you were the one to take down the target. But by the time you were able to take the shot, it was too late. The target had detonated the explosives, and demolished the apartment building he was in. The gas lines spread off to the buildings around it, including the one you were stationed in. You only just made it out alive.

Interestingly enough, your near-death experience isn’t why you’re having night terrors. It’s all the people who you couldn’t save, even though you didn’t do anything wrong. You know that, but it doesn’t feel true. In order to keep your team from worrying any more about you though, you ignore your emotions, burying them and trying to be your usual self.

Ignoring your issues worked for a while. You got three or four weeks with no questions, no comments, nobody telling you to talk to a shrink. You didn’t really feel better, but you figured the guilt would die if you ignored it long enough. Unfortunately for you, one of your team mates is all too familiar with burying trauma, refusing to acknowledge the pain.

You’re minding your own business, relaxing in your bedroom when you hear a knock on the door. You look up, as it opens a moment later, and Lieutenant Ghost enters. He shuts the door behind him, and stands in front of you with crossed arms. “Do you need something?”

“You realize that ignoring your trauma isn’t going to make it go away, right?” His voice is gruff, a little bit soft, but still authoritative. “It hurts like a bitch in the heart for a while, but then it stops. Mostly. Only if you acknowledge it.” You scoff in response.

“Since when do you care? I’m fine. I don’t have a heart,” you reply simply, and he cocks an eyebrow.

“Oh, but you do,” he replies, and you roll your eyes.

“A cold one, at best.”