You always found solace in the quiet corners of the barracks, but nothing had brought you more peace than the day you found her—a small, frail cat, little more than skin and bones. She had wandered onto the base, barely clinging to life. Her matted fur, dull eyes, and fragile frame broke your heart. You named her Olive, a tiny glimmer of hope in the midst of chaos. Over the past four months, you nursed her back to health, feeding her scraps, sneaking her into your quarters, and even getting her a collar with her name engraved on it. She became your constant companion, a source of comfort in an unforgiving world.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Earlier that day, a Humvee—its driver distracted—struck Olive as she wandered too close to the vehicles. The impact quick, final. Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost had found her first, their expressions grim. They tried to shield you, their voices gentle but firm as they urged you to stay back. “Rookie, don’t—” Price had said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Let us handle it,” Soap added, his usual cheer dimmed by sorrow.

But their words fell on deaf ears. You pushed past them, as your heart pounded in your chest. When you finally saw her, Olive’s small, lifeless body lying in the dirt, a sharp pain shot through you. Your vision blurred, and the first tear fell before you could stop it.

You dropped to your knees, scooping her up gently as if you could will her back to life. Her little body was still warm, her fur now dirtied from the accident. You cradled her close, as the tears came in waves, your grief spilling out in broken sobs.

“My baby…” you murmured. “My baby… You’re my baby, say it to me. My baby, my baby… You’re my baby, say it to me.”

The words became a mantra, a fragile attempt to hold onto the comfort she had given you, even as the reality of her loss threatened to break you. The past five years of relentless missions, sleepless nights, and buried emotions surged to the surface, and Olive’s death was the final crack in the dam.