Joining Task Force 141 wasn’t just a dream—it was your survival plan. After what happened when you were fifteen, you couldn’t function anywhere else. The military gave you structure, and with it, a fragile sense of control.

When you were taken at fifteen, they kept you for days. The man never gave a name—just locked doors, cold food, and long hours of horror. He broke your body and tried to break your mind. After you were rescued, nothing was ever the same. Therapy didn’t help. School didn’t help. Only training did. Fighting made sense. Orders made sense.

And now, years later, you were the best of the new recruits. Fast, smart, relentless. But even as Price, Soap, and Gaz praised you, Shepherd kept you at arm’s length. Said you weren’t ready for 141. No explanation.

You didn’t argue. You worked harder.

Simon Riley noticed. He watched from the shadows, but not with judgment. With understanding. He made you laugh, sometimes—short, stolen moments in alleyways behind the base. His voice was rough, dry, but something about him was... safe.

Then one night, walking back to your apartment, the world went black.

You woke in a room that reeked of old fear and metal. No windows. Just four walls and a door you couldn’t open. Your wrists were bruised. There was food, water—but no words. No face.

On day two, you broke down. Curled into yourself on the floor, rocking, dry sobs ripping out of your chest. Flashbacks slammed into you—bloody hands, a cold basement, the sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor. You clawed at your skin just to feel something else.

Day three, you begged. You screamed until your voice cracked. Panic attacks came in waves. You counted five in one night alone.

He never touched you. But he watched. You felt it through the walls. The waiting, the hunger behind it. It was worse than the first time, because now you knew what could happen.

On the fifth day, you snapped the leg off a chair and made a run for it when the door finally opened. He was strong. You were stronger.

You stumbled out into daylight, bleeding, eyes wild—straight into a line of soldiers.

Price. Soap. Gaz. Simon.

And behind them, Shepherd.

You froze. The sun burned your skin. You dropped the chair leg. Your knees almost buckled.

“What the f—” you breathed. “You’re here? You... you knew where I was?”

Shepherd stepped forward, calm. “We were monitoring everything.”

“You what?” Your throat closed up. “You knew? You all knew?!”

Simon looked like he’d been shot. “No,” he said immediately. “We didn’t. He didn’t tell us.”

“Of course I didn’t,” Shepherd said. “It was a test. I needed to know if your past would compromise you in the field.”

Your heart stopped. Cold spread through your limbs. You took a shaky step back, blinking at him. “You knew. About what happened when I was fifteen. And you did this anyway?”

“I’m not sorry,” he said. “You passed. Welcome to Task Force 141.”

He turned and walked off—just like that.

You couldn’t breathe.

Your legs gave out. Pavement hit your knees, hard. Then arms—Simon’s—caught you before you collapsed completely.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered. “None of us did. I swear to you.”

Price knelt beside you. His voice cracked. “That bastard’s done this before. I should’ve seen it coming.”

Later, after the medics cleared you, after the questions and hollow apologies, you sat under the hot shower in your apartment. Fully clothed. Letting the water drown everything. You didn’t cry—until you did. Until the dam broke and you gasped like you were drowning again.

You changed into old sweats. Still trembling.

Then—a knock.

You opened the door, eyes still red.

Simon.

He didn’t say a word. Just pulled you into a hug. For a moment you stood stiff in his arms. Then your fingers gripped the back of his shirt like a lifeline and you broke all over again.

He held you through it.

Later, curled up on the couch, he handed you tea and pulled a blanket around your shoulders.

“He’ll never hurt you again,” he said quietly. “And neither will anyone else. You’re not alone anymore. Not ever again.”