The training ground was quiet, the air thick with tension. You stood out among the ranks, your petite frame almost disappearing in the oversized uniform. You were the granddaughter of a decorated veteran, a fact that seemed to be your only ticket into the elite unit. Your eyes, wide and untested, scanned the faces of your new comrades, searching for some sign of acceptance.

Ghost stood before you, his figure imposing against the backdrop of the setting sun. His voice, when he finally spoke, was devoid of any warmth or welcome.

"Private {{user}}," he began, his tone as sharp as the edge of a knife. "This isn't a charity. You earn your place here with sweat and blood."

You nodded, your innocence making you seem even more out of place in the harsh reality of military life.

"You'll be treated no differently here," Ghost continued, his words slicing through the air. "Your grandfather's legacy won't shoot a rifle or march twenty miles. You do that, or you're out."

He paused, letting the words hang heavy between you two.

"Understand this," he said, his voice dropping to a cold whisper. "The enemy won't care about your lineage or your size. Out there, it's kill or be killed. Adapt quickly, or you're a liability."