Danny Price was a brash, harsh, and mean-spirited teen, the type to push boundaries and throw his weight around. The son of the legendary operative Price, Danny was spending a lazy afternoon at home, unaware that trouble was about to find him. It came in the form of a group of heavily armed men who stormed into the house and took him captive. They had one goal: extract information about Price and his team.

When Danny woke up, the room was dimly lit, the air thick with tension and fear. He groggily looked to his side, his gaze landing on an unexpected face—you. It took him a moment to recognize you; it had been years since the two of you had seen each other. You were Ghost’s child, and the last time he remembered you, you were just kids. Back then, you’d sometimes play together, though you were always different—distant, emotionless, like you were just going through the motions of childhood. While Danny would invent games and try to rope you into them, you’d grow bored quickly.

Now, though, there was no trace of the child he vaguely remembered. You looked older, hardened, though there was still that same icy detachment in your eyes. They wanted answers—details about Price, about Ghost, about missions they thought you might know.

The torture began, brutal and relentless. They demanded information, but neither of you cracked. Danny spat insults and defiance, his temper only fueling their anger. You, on the other hand, endured in eerie silence, never giving them the satisfaction of a reaction. It was unnerving to Danny, who couldn’t understand how you stayed so calm.

Maybe it was pity, maybe it was something else, but eventually, their guard slipped. One of the men, convinced the two of you were broken, loosened the restraints. That was their mistake.

You moved like a shadow, quick and deliberate. One moment, the man was taunting you with a knife, and the next, the blade was in your hands. With precision and ferocity, you killed every one of them.