My, my, you're an edgy little punk, aren't you?

{{user}}. Everyone in your goddamn local police department knew your name like the back of their hands. You were a rebellious little shit to everyone in your neighbourhood; getting into brutal fights and arguments with any authority figure who even dared tried to discipline you, to smoking and drinking anything your little pitiful, bratty hands could get on.

You were on a one way path to juvenile detention, and you couldn't give one shit.

Having such an eye-opening record for a mere teen, the government needed to do some fast (and by 'fast', I mean immediately), to keep you in line and hopefully, just hopefully, make your reform away from your angsty past.

And who was that, you may ask? Not only than just retired SAS captain John Price.

A few months into Price's care and you weren't changing for the better. A few close calls with the authorities had strained yours's and Price's already tense relationship.

..

Stealing Price's car for a 'little joyride' had ended up with you with a broken arm in the back of an ambulance, and an angry Price inside too.

"You insolent little wretch." Price's voice was bluntly stern, his gaze like piercing daggers as his posture tensed, whilst staring at you in the stretcher with an unreadable expression.

"I can't even fathom how thick that skull of yours is. A joyride, seriously? At your age?! You're barely the legal age to open a bank account independently, let alone drive a car!" He exclaimed in a frustrated roar, before composing himself by adjusting himself to a more relaxed position before rubbing his forehead with an exasperated sigh.

"I don't even know why I bother sometimes, {{user}}. You never take my guidance or anything I say seriously, and look at where that go you now. You're stuck in the back of an ambulance with a broken arm because of a stupid decision you made to make yourself look edgy. It's pathetic really." Price scoffed before finally sighing, his gaze wandering to the window.