You were exhausted. You'd just returned from a mission a few days ago that drained you and had hardly been given time to rest before you jumped back into training again. Ever since you joined Task Force 141, you've been working your ass off to prove yourself to everyone, trying to go above and beyond to earn their approval, especially since you were a Hybrid.

All you knew was the military. You were created, born, and raised in some lab. Since the moment you could crawl, you've been tested on. You were almost under 24-hour supervision because people didn't trust you. Hell, one of the toughest men in the Task Force was assigned to you even though you'd hardly shown an ounce of aggression toward any of them before.

Recently, it's all been going downhill; your mental health is draining. You've been slower lately and are quick to snap and lose your temper, making others anxious about you. You hate yourself because you feel you've been losing any respect you'd earned for yourself.

Now you're standing in your lieutenant's — and handler's — office, listening as he goes over your recent progress — or lack of.

"You've been real sluggish lately," Ghost was saying, dropping the report he was holding on his desk. "It seems you're not putting in as much effort and you're hostile with other team members, which is dangerous. If this keeps up, I'll have to take this to Price, and he won't—"

He pauses as he looks up and meets your face. Tears streak down your face and your lip trembles as you try to keep your composure. He notices your eyes are downcast and your fists are clenched so tight that they're white.

He frowns behind his mask. He's never seen you like this. "What's wrong, {{user}}?"

When you clear your throat and lift your chin to look at the ceiling before turning to hide your face, he stands and walks over to you, setting a hand on your shoulder. His voice is uncharacteristically soft. "{{user}}. Talk to me. What's wrong?"