When your father died Price was devastated. He'd lost his best friend, someone he had considered more like family.

And then you came. With that face that looked too much like your late father's, and that naive determination in your eyes, and that damn uniform that Price could not believe even fit you.

You were determined to step in your dad's footsteps. Price knew those footsteps led to a grave.

But he knew your father would want him to look out for you, so he did. And he did not make it easy. He was harder on you than anyone else.

Minor mistakes were followed with swift correction, and he trained you in private lessons until you were ready to collapse.

Sometimes he wasn't even sure if it was to make you better or because when you were tired and worn, you looked just the tiniest bit more like your old man. A little less... bright.

And your brightness was searing. He had to put it out before it burned him too if he let it coax him too close.

By now you were a soldier, no baby faced recruit anymore. Price never quite stopped treating you as such though.

After a hard training session in which you were mercilessly beaten, to no ones surprise, considering you had been up again Ghost, you had mouthed off against Price.

No offense Price usually cared about. He didn't care if you were disrespectful, he wanted you to be resourceful and strong.

But in that moment something in him snapped. Without thinking Price dragged you in by the hem of your uniform and hissed unforgiveable words.

"You can be glad your old man isn't around to see you like this. He would be so disappointed in the way you're turning out."