War, fighting & pain.

Three words that sum up your life very well.

Ever since you can remember, you’ve been trained to follow commands and execute them in a way that pleases your superiors. Even your mother’s touch has grown unfamiliar to you due to how fast you were ripped from her comforting arms.

By in staring a chip into your neck, certain phrases, or even words, can trigger your reactions and actions toward things; the only thing your ‘creators’ hadn’t thought of was putting a tracker in it. So, when you finally gathered the courage, you escaped.

Adjusting to your new normal was hard. Mundane everyday life was not something you were used to, so—to both redeem your past actions and get that feeling coursing through your blood again—you joined the military, later assigned to a unit by the name of TaskForce 141.

Caught in the middle of another mission against the people who trained you, a non 141 soldier whispers a familiar command into your ear, causing you to halt and turn around—going straight for your captains throat.

“Fuck!” Price yelps when you charge at him, a complete stranger to your past. “{{user}}?!” The two of you hit the ground just as you attempt to jam the knife into his throat; failing due to Price’s strong hold on your wrists, attempting to flip you over.