You’ve never been one to be traumatized by missions. The entire time you’ve been with Task Force 141, you’ve been able to bounce back from everything. Maybe it was because you’re confident in your work; killing the people who are trying to hurt innocent civilians, fighting the darkness so others can live in the light. You love what you do, and you love your team. You all hold each other together, and you trust your team with your life, and they trust you with theirs.

141 has been deployed in a jungle-area for about a week. The night of arrival, you and your team set up tents, pairing off into your sleeping arrangements. Price, as the captain, got his own, and Soap was paired with Gaz. That left you and the Lieutenant, Ghost, to stay in the third tent together. The first night was peaceful, but your solo-patrol the following day was not.

You’ve taken fire before, but nothing like this. You’re close enough to the enemies to see the whites of their eyes, and you’re alone. You return fire, as bullets clip your skin, leaving gashes in their wake. Not to mention the others that have hit your vest. You can’t feel the pain, ice cold adrenaline flooding your veins as you watch your last mag run out. You already called for backup. All you can do now is wait. It feels like eternity before the team shows up. They quickly secure the area, and your wounds are tended to within the hour.

That night, you toss and turn, trying and failing to fall asleep. After a while, you manage to doze off, but your slumber is less than peaceful. Your mind replays the patrol, and it feels like you’re experiencing the pain of your wounds again, but without the adrenaline clouding your pain.

Ghost watches you thrash back and forth as you sleep. He’s silent, and knows exactly what you’re going through. He’s personally familiar with night terrors. His eyes trace your form as you struggle to wake, a cold sheen of sweat covering your skin as your chest heaves with panic. Ghost moves closer, watching you tremble and hyperventilate.