These are the Untold Stories of Operation Greenstone.
Ghost Recon: Breakpoint fan fiction series.
Explore the possibilities of behind the scenes or non-player character incidences that complete and may fill the gaps for large jumps in the man game's...
The archipelago of Auroa possessed no lack of real fun: the type of fun so real it could kill you.
After the steam of a hot camp shower, the jungle muskiness of my modest island "Slasher-Movie-Cabin-In-The-Woods" assaulted my nose: a dour mixture of dirt, rotten eucalyptus, touched up with a hint of despair – it wasn't something I liked. Looking at myself in the cracked 1950's patinaed mirror, what I saw I liked even less.
The laughter and chatter of children playing carried through the well-aged, drafty wood-plank walls and a happy, pointed shriek was heartwarming and reminded me of my daughters Jamie, 14 and Anna, 12, that split a light happiness through the gloom of the conflicted soul in the mirror.
A soul that was tired of being locked down by an island defense swarm so ruthless and indefensible that without the Little Orphan Annie secret decoder ring only a handful of my and Nomad's shooters were left to lead an insurgency we never wanted to lead!
A soul that needed to find resolution to this cockmeat sandwich so she could hug her own babies she hadn't been able to hug before she deployed!
A soul whose every waking moment was overshadowed by the shame of putting any of her own needs above others, especially above her family!
Was my soul tired?...weary?...no...more like imprisoned.
Trapped on this godforsaken archipelago in the deep South Pacific for almost a month and a half, knowing the Canadian government would've enacted missing in action(MIA) protocols, it was agonizing to think of the terror my family must be feeling knowing their only living parent may be dead, yet living with a futile hope I would return and due to our top secret nature they could not be told anything meaningful.
While Major Samantha 'Yentl' Tanner played commando, every inch of Mrs. Samantha Tanner, widower, mother, daughter didn't just miss them...I had to hold them, smell them, fight with them over finishing homework and chores, brush the knots in their hair out, feel their pain so I could help them carry that burden like I had when they lost their father, my husband Major Greg Tanner, to an improvised explosive device(IED) in Afghanistan almost ten years ago.
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Auroa is Skell's dream of a World 2.0 technocratic utopia.
Leaning on the pedestal sink, seeking strength from the worn linoleum to face another day, my shoulders bowed under the heavy weight of guilt I felt in my chest. Shamefully looking up, staring back at me from the shabby mirror was the gaunt complexion of a woman haunted by her fears: ...you ugly, selfish little girl...you are going to ruin these people's lives, like you ruined your mother's...like you are ruining your family...
Tears flooded the rims of my eyes knowing it was true.
When Greg died my burden of pain and loss had consumed me so much that it fueled a need for vengeance, motivating me to switch careers from Royal Canadian Navy clearance diving officer to special operations assaulter officer, when I should've focused on my family and in a mixed blessing my dad had stepped up and was really their parent, much like my aunt had raised me.
