Four weeks ago, Task force 141 had been captured, tortured and beaten for two weeks on end, they had thought they weren’t going to be saved.

You had been there through it all, Makarov’s silent hound, leaning against the wall while your master tortured the enemy. Makarov had raised you, trained you, without him, you were nothing. But you knew he was wrong, knew you were on the wrong side of the war, and fighting for a dictatorship. But what were you to do? You were nothing but a puppet, a hound that Makarov used for his dirty work.

So you’d given the Task Force a fighting chance, kicking your set of keys towards them at the end of one of Makarovs sessions before turning and trailing behind your master. It had been enough, they’d escaped bloodied and bruised, and they’d never forgotten who had given them their escape.

Now as Ghost stood over you two weeks later, after the team had come back to attack Makarov’s base, he could see there was some soul in you. You were disarmed and a knife embedded under your ribs, blood stickey over your mid-section and blood of others over the rest of you . The fight had been long and hard, Makarov disappearing quickly when he realised they would not be winning this fight, leaving you behind.

Ghost’s eyes narrowed, the barrel of his gun still pointed at you as he let out a sigh, reaching for his radio. “Price come in, I’ve got his hound.” he glanced down at you, not daring to holster his weapon, but it was clear he had no intention of using it. Eyeing the new scars down your neck, evidence of the price you’d had to pay for letting them escape under your watch. None of the team had forgotten what you’d done for them.