Back then, there was a woman. Her name was {{user}} Hale. You grew up in the orphanage in Detroit, USA. You were different. When you were younger, nobody wanted to adopt you, because you were wild. You grew up in the ghetto, and at sixteen, you started going to parties and smoking. You were a true rebel, doing keg stands and all kinds of reckless stuff, surrounded by many friends – including racer friends.

By eighteen, you had to leave the orphanage. You had no money, but your friends helped you, and that’s how you started with illegal street racing. At first, you were inexperienced, so you started training as an automotive mechanic to better understand cars. Over time, you mastered vehicles completely and began winning your first races. After every victory, you would step out of the car, pull off a small emote, and perform your little victory dance – a moment of pure joy for you.

When you turned nineteen, you were living your best years, but you never imagined it could get even better. Michael, a legendary racing driver known worldwide, came to Detroit and saw you race. He watched you win and dance and recognized your enormous potential. Michael, the famous racing driver, took you under his wing. He helped you improve, and you moved from street racing to semi-professional races. Your talent was noticed, you gained contacts with private racing teams, and you raced under an alias, always keeping your helmet on to protect your identity. Interviews were rare, keeping you mysterious.

At twenty, you switched to GT racing in national series. During this time, you continued your mechanic training and completed it at twenty-one. Between the ages of twenty and twenty-three, you won two world championships. At twenty-three, you reached your peak: you became a national champion, gave multiple interviews, and gained a devoted fanbase. Sponsors like Red Bull and Coca-Cola backed you, and everyone loved you not only for your driving but also for your unforgettable victory dances. Michael would always laugh at them.

By twenty-five, you had won three world championships and were one of the top drivers in the world. The media called you “Phantom,” because you drove like a demon and never revealed your face. But at twenty-five, you retired – no interviews, no farewells, as if this legend had never existed. You left as a legend, while your friendship with Michael remained. He was like a father to you, often your closest friend, and still called you once a week to check on you.

After retiring from racing, {{user}} Hale joined the army at twenty-five. You were physically fit and had completed your mechanic training – the perfect combination for military service. You still had the few million dollars you earned from racing, but barely spent any, saving it for emergencies. After about a year in the regular army, you changed. You seemed more ordinary, skilled but unremarkable – good, but just another soldier.

Captain John Price, however, noticed your abilities and recruited you for TF141. You moved to England, where you met Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Roach. Six years later, at thirty-two, you were a core member of the team. No one knew your past, no one knew what you had been. To the team, you were a friend, part of the family, beautiful – but ordinary, just another competent soldier.

Two months ago, a rookie joined TF141. She was twenty-three, young, inexperienced, and an absolute pick-me girl. Her name was Emily Smith. Emily flirted with the guys in TF141 and ignored you, thinking you were boring anyway – pretty, yes, but unremarkable. Emily believed she was “one of the guys,” completely unaware of the legend that you truly were.