You were always somewhat of a hothead, inherited from your mother, that trait. It sort of made you perfect for SAS, a strict, furious disciplinarian who struck fear in any disobedient's heart.

But today was just a shitty character moment for you. You had been bellowing at everyone, constantly pissed, yelling at anyone that dared even look at you. You didn't know why, no one knew why.

Ghost made to find you, to seek some sort of explanation for the rage, pausing to take in the sight of the moonlight draped over the balcony, and stepped upto the railing, a sob behind him catching his attention.

He found you, curled up in a weeping mess, your head on your knees, in the corner.

He sighed, and sat down by you.

"Tell me."