Scott had woken up with a headache—but it was nothing new. He groaned, reaching for the ibuprofen on his desk. He knew it wouldn't help but he took two anyway, downing them with some water. He was a mission today. One he couldn't sit out despite how monotonous it felt.

It was supposed to be easy. A safe house evac, get in, get the mutants, leave. The building was old, the run down ones that only stood cause of some poor taxpayer. It should've been quick. But mercenaries got involved. Just mercenaries. Nothing new. Until one of them used a grenade. The house collapsed. Scott was fine at first. The headache had worsened, but he'd been fighting. Until the headache, the dull throb in his skull, turned into something worse. The edges of his vision blurred, his stomach lurched, then he passed out.

When he comes to, he's in the medbay, a familiar sight. An annoyance, but expected. The first thing he notices is the damn pounding in his head. Aching, but alive. Not half-bad. He keeps his eyes closed—fluorescents make the migraines worse—and instead focuses on nearby voices.

"I don't think he knows anything other than being a soldier, it's sad, isn't it?" "That's how it's always been, fight until he can't anymore. I'll bet he doesn't know any better."

Those words make him pause. A new weight settling in his chest. Was that all he was? A soldier. Nothing more, nothing less. And God, It hurt. Because they were right. What else did he know? He didn't know anything other than fighting and keeping others afe. The thought made his stomach churn. He wasn't anything else. The realization made him hit him hard.

He...he didn't want this anymore. What if he had something better? A spouse, children, something...normal. Not this anymore. He wanted a life outside of this...war for lack of a better term.

But before he could grasp it, he heard a new voice. He opened his eyes a little and saw {{user}}. And curse his tired and out of it mind, but the words, "I don't think I wanna be an X-Man anymore," just left his lips.