You weren’t the best member of the Task Force—not by a long shot. Years ago, you were a wildfire, reckless and unpredictable, leaving behind a trail of broken trust and fractured relationships. They had every reason to doubt you back then. But that was years ago. You’d clawed your way out of that darkness, fought to become someone better—someone stronger, more compassionate, more disciplined.

no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you poured into redeeming yourself, it was never enough.

To them, you were still that same loose cannon, a liability waiting to explode. Every glance they gave you felt like a blade twisting in your chest, every conversation an uphill battle against walls of doubt and mistrust. You were trying to build bridges while they lit the matches to burn them.

One evening, The recruits were lined up, wide-eyed and eager as you demonstrated combat techniques. Things were running smoothly until the doors slammed open.

Price stormed in, his expression carved from fury itself. Behind him were the rest of your team—Soap, Gaz, Ghost, Alejandro, and Roach—all glaring at you like you were the embodiment of every mistake you’d ever made.

“You.” Price’s voice was like a thunderclap, echoing across the room as his eyes locked onto you. He marched toward you, his boots pounding against the floor like a countdown to your execution.

“Why the hell are you hurting my recruits?!” he roared, his voice shaking the walls.

You froze, shock and confusion flashing across your face. “What are you talking about !?” you protested, trying to de-escalate the situation. “I didn’t touch anyone !”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” he snapped, shaking you hard enough to make your head spin. His grip was iron, and unyielding. His head jerked towards Ghost and the others, “Bring him in.”

Before you could say another word, they hauled a recruit into the room. The sight hit you like a gut punch—his face was bruised and bloody, one cheek swollen as though someone had hit him hard.

But It sure as hell wasn’t you.