Pattern Breaker

This Mirror Isn't Big Enough for the Two of Us

When faced with the promise of falling, you have but only two choices.

Jump, or be pushed.

Jumping was hard. It requires a sense of self-acknowledgement, an awareness of yourself that many people remain ignorant to out of self preservation. But when you make that choice for yourself, you at least have the ability to vaguely control when, and where.

The why and how wasn't important, because it would always be out of your control.

The who... Was something different entirely.

You'll have to learn to reclaim things that you once lost. You have to learn to lose things you once claimed as your own.

Human beings, simply made of clay, molded and formed as they stumbled through life– becoming an amalgamation of everything they loved and hated. Of every word spoken, every bone broken, every tear shed.

Being pushed was easy. Sometimes you don't even realize it was happening. You can remain blind, infection spreading through your body and brain and soul before you knew what happened. It will rot you from the inside out, inside every pore and wrinkle until you go into shock.

The problem with being pushed is that it always ends badly.

You don't get the luxury of controlling what you lose.

Skydiving, as a rule, is fatal without a parachute. And when you're falling in tandem the crushing weight of the rushing air around you will suffocate you as you cling to each other out of desperation.

Ignoring that choice was futile.

Fate is an indestructible force, battling every single breath for dominance in a violent dance of will. When the universe promises you a Fate, whatever it may be, it also promises a heart. The problem with hearts is that they will never be practical until they are unbreakable.

Until then, they are like a nerve exposed to the elements.

Simon was an unstoppable force, but Fate was an immovable object.

Stationary.

When you ignore it, and put up walls to secure yourself, it only delays the inevitable. Unavailing. It doesn't stop it. Moments in time slowly drill their way through, picking an open scab until it turns to scar tissue. It will break your skin until it drains you. You will deteriorate into ashes, scattered by the wind.

And if you force yourself against Fate, shielded with a lifetime of trauma that you use to protect yourself– you're forced to recognize why you put the walls up in the first place. Every moment full of agony, abuse, anguish.

Your walls will crumble, because Fate never fails.

And as Fate tore the first wall apart, Simon was pushed.

"Bravo team offloads here. Alpha team stays on board to land downrange. Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill." Ghost stood from his seat as his team approached their destination in Al Mazrah. They watched him with respect and fear as he crossed down the plane, pacing past them. Red light cast shadows across his skull plate, darkening his brow menacingly. He knew how he looked to the others, and it fueled his ego.

The hanger door opened, dropping down to the earth. . Ghost turned as Bravo team began dropping, inexplicably looking for the Sergeant he had just met that night. He didn't know why his curiosity was so piqued with him.

The Sergeant stood, glancing down at one of the men that remained seated. They met eyes, Soap holding one hand out for a fist bump before moving on. He caught Ghost's stare with an intense look of determination. Despite the carefree attitude he had given off at the base, Ghost could still see the power and strength that lay in his expression. He very obviously cared for his team, his companions– deeply and purely.