Two weeks had passed since I last saw Price, and I was now almost fully healed. I had written my report detailing the events and submitted it to my superiors. My life had changed, and I felt empty. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I noticed that I had lost weight, developed dark circles under my eyes, and had a scar on my face. I now trained regularly, preparing myself physically for the challenges that lay ahead.

I entered Captain Price's office. He sat in his chair, his eyes focused on the documents. When he looked up and saw me, he said, "Yn..."

With no emotion in my voice, I stated, "Captain, I am ready to join your team."

He nodded, got up, and gestured for me to follow him. I followed, lost in my thoughts. He stopped at a door and opened it with a smile, saying, "Welcome to Task Force 141."

I walked in and saw three men before me. One wore a skull mask and was dressed entirely in black. Another had a cap on his head, his gaze directed towards me. The last one had his hair styled in a unique way.

Captain Price pointed to the masked figure, saying, "This is Lt. Simon Riley, also known as Ghost. Don't be surprised; he never takes off his mask."

He then pointed to the one with the cap, "This is Kyle Garrick, also known as Gaz."
Finally, he introduced John MacTavish, also known as Soap.

Both Gaz and Soap shook my hand, greeting me warmly, but Ghost only nodded, and I reciprocated the gesture. From that moment on, I knew that I wouldn't particularly get along with him. Gaz turned to me and said, "We've read your file, a tragic accident. We're sorry for your loss."

I nodded and replied, "Thank you."

I didn't appreciate it when my team brought up the subject of my loss.
Ghost observed her closely, studying her every movement. He wasn't particularly fond of new members, as he believed in taking the time to determine if they were trustworthy. He had seen her file, with the old photo of her displaying a healthy face and a smile, and the current one, alone, devoid of a smile and empty like a doll. He was all too familiar with that feeling, but he didn't want to show sympathy too quickly.
Soap bombarded me with questions, reminding me of the twins. They had their moments of being like that too. I found it easy to get along with him. Gaz, on the other hand, was genuinely kind and sincere. But with Ghost, I couldn't form a clear impression yet. It was evident that he wasn't ready to communicate with me.
After the whole conversation, I stepped outside. The cold air hit my face. Since the incident with my team, I had taken up smoking. I lit a cigarette and sat on the ground, leaning against the wall, contemplating the chaos of my life. I took a drag from the cigarette and exhaled. To my surprise, I noticed someone else stepping out. It was Ghost. His hands in his side pockets, he asked me in a serious tone, "Did you join the team solely for revenge?"
I didn't look at him and simply replied, "Yes," taking another drag.

He spoke again, this time with a sharp edge to his voice, "Then you should reconsider if joining a team with that mindset is a wise decision." His gaze locked onto me.

I disregarded his intense stare, taking another drag and retorting, "You don't get to dictate how, where, when, or why I join a team, Lieutenant Simon Riley. I have enough experience to know that myself."

His tone grew darker, "If I see even a hint of betrayal from you or if you jeopardize my team in any way, I will personally eliminate you."
And it didn't sound like an empty threat.

I looked at him, flicked my cigarette to the ground, deliberately bumped into his shoulder, and walked back inside. I could feel his eyes on me from behind. If looks could kill, I thought to myself.
Captain Price showed me to my room, which was separated from the men's quarters. I was relieved by this arrangement because I couldn't sleep at night. My thoughts drove me to madness. I entered the training room, as I did every night, but this time it was different because it belonged to the Task Force. I was at the shooting range, each shot accompanied by thoughts of Makarov's face. With the sound of gunshots and the protective headphones on, I didn't notice someone tapping me from behind. I turned around and instinctively kicked at the person's arm. They blocked my kick, and I realized who it was. Ghost.
He grabbed my leg, twisted it, and forced me to the ground. Once again, I found myself on the floor, a scenario reminiscent of the one with Makarov. Fueled by anger, I raised my elbow and struck his chest. He flinched momentarily and released his grip on me. I aimed my weapon at him. He looked at me through the mask, not out of fear but because he recognized that I had anger issues. And damn it, I had anger issues since that incident, coupled with paranoia.
In a cold tone, he said, "Put the weapon down."

But I didn't move the weapon, as another scenario played out in my mind. He repeated his demand, this time in a more authoritative tone, "Put the weapon down, or I will show you why you shouldn't point a weapon at me."

I snapped back to reality and taunted him, "Does the great Lieutenant feel scared?"

In that moment, he swiftly approached me, disarmed me, and pinned me against the wall. His hand tightened around my throat, making it harder for me to breathe. With one hand, he seemed to be choking me, and with the other, he aimed the weapon at me. "I warned you," he said.
I smiled and replied, "Likewise." I took my knife and pressed it against his throat. He looked visibly annoyed and said, "Enough with your games."

"Then let me go," I retorted.

And he did. He released his grip, and I fell to the ground, gasping for air. He punched the wall in frustration and muttered, "Crazy."

I sat on the floor, laughing and crying at the same time. I called out to him, "Wait."

He stopped and glared at me, his eyes filled with anger. "Do you need another lesson?"

I rested my head against the wall and told him, "I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to attack you."

"But you still did," he responded.
I turned my head towards him. "Maybe one shouldn't approach someone at the shooting range in the middle of the night like a rat."

He warned me, "Be careful how you speak to me."

And he was right. I didn't even know what was wrong with me, and it frustrated me.

He said matter-of-factly, "Apology accepted. Don't pull off such a show again."
And there he was gone.