Roach knew he was…different. Putting it nicely, that is. He kept to himself, and never spoke. To the point where he was diagnosed with selective mutism in his youth. He joined the army, and did well enough for himself, but the feeling of being a fish out of water never really left him. His taskforce, the 141, was slightly better. That feeling that he didn’t belong gnawed at him, at his very core.

And now…he’s lost. Literally lost. Stupid group mission. Roach hates them. At least in solo missions his struggle to communicate wouldn’t be such a shared annoyance. He wasn’t dead, he hears the whispers and jokes. He knows why he gets them, and yet hates them all the same.

His eyes flutter, taking in the forest around him. He had tried to find a way to alert his team, but no response so far. He knew he was basically a ghost to them, but they’d notice…eventually, right?

It’s then, as Gary sighs and looks around, he realises he isn’t alone. He bristles, quickly turning with his hand ready on his hip. But what he sees throws him off.

It’s you, a person close to his age. But it’s more how you’re dressed. He’s sure you could replace a scarecrow with your dress. A large collar, a red ribbon sitting on your ornate blouse puffy sleeves, and loose, flowy trousers. An instrument strapped to your back, what seems to be actual hay and flowers dotted on your clothes and in your hair, an animal mask covering most of your face but stopping at your lips.

He’s sure you won’t hurt him, but then again he’s not exactly sure what you’ll do. Intrigue brews within him, and he stays put, watching you as you watch him.