#mmw2

The meeting hall stank of sweat, gunpowder, and failure.

“It was a bloody disaster!” Lieutenant Simon’s voice cracked like thunder, rattling the bones of every soldier standing at attention. The room pulsed with tension, his rage wrapping around them like barbed wire.

He stood in the center, a monolith of fury, his gloved hand slashing through the air as if carving the shame into their chests. “You call that coordination? Teamwork? We were lucky enough to come back here in one piece!”

His words lashed at them, each syllable sharp and merciless.

Then came the crash—a chair hurled violently across the room, splintering against the floor. The sound echoed like a gunshot, silencing even the bravest attempt at explanation.

A young soldier opened his mouth to speak, likely to offer an apology, an excuse—but Simon’s death-glare and venom-laced words shut him down before a single syllable escaped.

Then everything changed.

You walked in.

Your steps were soft, measured, like the eye of a storm. But the shift in the air was immediate. Simon felt your presence before his eyes met yours. His rage, still boiling, simmered into silence the second you entered. His posture softened—barely—but enough for the seasoned soldiers to notice.

“Sergeant,” he said, and for a fleeting moment, his voice wasn’t fire, but gravel warmed by sunlight.

You saluted. “Yes, sir.”

“At ease,” he replied, his hands clasped behind his back, voice now thick with restraint. “Could I speak to you in private?”

“In a moment, Lieutenant,” you said, stepping past him with a calm he didn’t have. “I need a word with your recruits.”

The shift was immediate.

You faced them—young, green, and so stupid they didn’t even know how stupid they were. The storm that had once been Simon was now yours to unleash.

“Recruits.”

The word tore from your throat, jagged and sharp. It dropped into the silence like a lit fuse.

“Today… was a disaster.”

You paused, breath ragged.

“No. Today was a f***ing nightmare.”

The hall was frozen. No one dared move, not even to blink. You stepped forward, the weight of your grief and fury dragging behind you like chains.

“One of you—maybe more—ignored my orders.” Your voice cracked but didn’t falter. “You thought you were smarter. Faster. Braver. You weren’t. You were reckless. Arrogant. And because of that…”

You choked, the pain breaking through.

“You exposed your squad. You almost got us all killed. Including me. Including the man who trusted you to follow his lead.”

Silence met your words. Cold and suffocating.

“Listen closely,” you growled, your voice now low, deadly. “You don’t matter here. Not yet. You’re cannon fodder until we decide otherwise.”

You paced, your boots thudding like war drums. “You ran headfirst into a minefield. And you stole the chance for the bomb team—my team—to clear the way. Because of you…”

You stopped, breath hitching.

“Ryan’s dead.”

A single name. A single gunshot to the soul.

“Sergeant Ryan Keller.” You swallowed hard. “A father. A husband. My friend. My brother.”

The room held its breath as you spoke of the moment—the explosion, the blood, the way his eyes had gone still in your arms.

“He was supposed to come home in three weeks. He promised his daughter he’d teach her to ride a bike.”

Your voice cracked again. And then it broke.

“GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER, OR I WILL SEE TO IT THAT YOU NEVER WEAR THIS UNIFORM AGAIN!”

“YES, DRILL SERGEANT!” they barked back—most of them, anyway.

Then… a whisper. Cowardly. Cutting.

“…Maybe if you’d done your job…”

The world stopped.

You turned slowly, like death itself had turned its gaze.

“What did you say?”

The recruit straightened, either too foolish or too numb to back down.

“Maybe if you’d cleared the mines faster… Ryan would still be alive.”

The storm broke.

You were on him in seconds, fury exploding from every pore. You slammed him into the ground, dirt rising like smoke.

“MY fault?!” you screamed, grief boiling over. “I gave the orders. YOU disobeyed. YOU led your squad into a death trap!”

You yanked his collar, forcing him to face you.

“You cost me my friend.”

Your voice trembled, but you didn’t hide it. You wanted them to see.

“He trusted me. He died because you didn’t.”

You stepped back, the weight of grief dragging your shoulders down.

“His blood is on your hands.”

Your tone fell to a whisper—broken, raw.

“You stole a father from his child. A husband from his wife. A brother from me.”

Tears streamed freely now.

“And I don’t care what happens to you after this… but I’ll make damn sure you never forget the feeling of his blood on your skin.”

You turned to Simon—Ghost, as his men called him.

He’d been watching the entire time, unmoving. Eyes like ice. Jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached. But beneath the cold exterior, something shifted. Sympathy, pride… pain. Something human.

“GET YOUR ASSES TO YOUR BARRACKS!”

The recruits scrambled, boots slamming like thunder, hands shaking as they saluted and disappeared like shadows into the hall.

Silence followed.

Ghost didn’t speak at first.

He watched you, still trembling, still bleeding from wounds no one could see.

Finally, his voice, low and unsteady:

“I… They just don’t get it.”

You didn’t reply.

You didn’t have to.

He stepped closer, wordless, and stood beside you. For once, even the Ghost had nothing left to say.

The war had claimed another piece of your soul.