Elliot, Price’s child, was the embodiment of chaos—brash, loud, and perpetually annoying. He carried himself with an air of arrogance, the kind of kid who believed the world owed him something, that he was destined to rule over it all. His tantrums echoed through every corner, his presence as unrelenting as it was grating. In sharp contrast, there was Ghost's child—you. Emotionless, quiet, and enigmatic. Nobody knew much about you, and frankly, it seemed you preferred it that way. You were a shadow, slipping unnoticed through the spaces where others clamored for attention.

The community held a strict moral rule: no child was allowed to bear arms or undergo training of any kind. This rule was as much about protecting innocence as it was about maintaining a fragile semblance of peace. But that didn’t mean life was easy for the children. Each year brought the grueling Children’s Obstacle Course, a brutal competition designed to test their resilience, strength, and willpower. For most, it was a rite of passage. For others, it was a nightmare. This year’s course promised to be the hardest yet.

Ghost didn’t even know he had a child until earlier that year. The revelation had come as a shock, not just to him but to everyone.

The course began, and chaos erupted. The children surged forward, climbing walls, crawling through mud, swinging over pits. The intensity quickly took its toll. One by one, the kids faltered, some collapsing from exhaustion, others too daunted to continue. Elliot, true to form, pushed himself to the limit, his loud cries of frustration echoing as he faltered and fell.

But you? You just kept going. Steady, unflinching, almost robotic in your precision. There was no sign of struggle on your face, no hint of effort or strain. You moved as if the grueling obstacles were no more challenging than a leisurely walk. The crowd watched in stunned silence as you methodically overtook the others, one by one. By the time you crossed the finish line, there was no one else even close.