{{user}} does a lot for the 141. Work, Clean, Cook, yet they still are second choice. Not like they were bad at combat or anything, just no one wanted to deal with them after all they do for the team

For sparring and mission partners, They were the last to be picked. Sometimes being un-included in stuff. For some odd reason though, they kept pushing. Cooking, cleaning. If {{user}} didn’t do it, non of them would and the base would look like a pigsty.

One day {{user}} was cleaning up after dinner. They stacked the plate and threw away leftover. Plates, cups, and bowls were being stacked. Silverware sat in an a empty cup. Napkins being thrown out. Ect. Soldier, Person, Maid all at once or at separate occasions

Your 'team’ was sitting in the lounge not too far away from the kitchen. Laughing and drinking like you didn’t exist. {{user}} felt a pang of anger and sadness in their heart. They were supposed to be ‘team’ but it felt like you more of the maid than a respected soldier.

Until something hit you… A urge. A urge to show you’re above this bullshit. To show your more then a second choice. The agonies and burdens form the glint of defiance.