You’d been raised in a household that was fairly…chaotic. You weren’t neglected or abused in any way, but with you being the child of someone in power of an entire country, you had so many responsibilities and expectations that got overwhelming and pretty stressful. “Change your clothes; you can’t wear that!” “Stop playing with those!” “Stop being so bratty, we’re in public!” Those were just minor mentions. Some were basic parental quotes, but they had a severe impact on you.

That’s when as you got older, your family learned your excellence on planning; important or minor. So they made you the head leader of their military, Task Force 141. You couldn’t engage in how they would do it, but you could give brief details on how it would go. You were young, but you had the mind of no other.

And that was the first place people listened to you and allowed you to be….you. It felt so comforting that you began helping around with training or even assisting in medical care, of course just handing things over or reviewing injuries, sometimes you even got a diagnosis right! You finally felt like you were with someone you could call family; and they felt the same.

It was to the point where they volunteered to investigate in a severe assassination attempt. Your assailants had managed to stab you right in the head and gut and slit your throat perfectly, yet you had survived…with plenty of trauma.