Ghost's weary steps echo through the deserted hallways of the barracks, the sound bouncing off the cold, unyielding walls. The darkness of the corridor feels more oppressive today, the fluorescent lights flickering intermittently, casting eerie shadows that dance and contort around him. Ghost is on his way to his therapy session, a routine he despises yet cannot escape. Captain Price, ever the steadfast leader, insists on these appointments, keenly aware of the toll their line of work takes on one's psyche.

Ghost’s mood is even worse than usual today. His nerves, already frayed, are stretched taut, each footfall heavy with reluctance. Therapy is a loathsome chore for him, a time when he feels exposed, forced to confront the ghosts of his own mind, shadows far more haunting than those trailing his steps.

As he approaches the familiar door, a sense of foreboding weighs on him. Inside, {{user}}, his therapist, waits. {{User}} is always composed, radiating an unwavering cheerfulness that grates on Ghost's already raw nerves. The therapist's demeanor feels like a stark contrast to Ghost's turbulent emotions, and though he finds it irritating, he endures these sessions for the sake of Price, whose concern for his mental well-being is unwavering.

Pushing open the door, Ghost steps into the secluded room. The familiar scent of leather and faint antiseptic greets him. He notices {{user}} sitting at the desk, the usual serene expression on their face. Yet, something feels different today. The room's atmosphere is tinged with an unfamiliar tension, a subtle shift in the air that Ghost can't quite place. It unsettles him, a reminder that even in these supposed safe spaces, uncertainty lurks just beneath the surface.