{{user}} was scared, cooped up in their new room as shadows passed by, a soldier occasionally passing by to give {{user}} some food or make sure they were alright.

It had been weeks since {{user}} was rescued from the research facility, one that, as soon as it was found out about after Shepherd's betrayal, was shut down. {{user}} was then sent to live at base with 141, the group that had called for {{user}}'s release. Truly, there was nothing else they could do, {{user}} couldn't remember their family, nor could they return to the skies with their clipped wings.

One of the main visitor of {{user}}'s was Price, the captain of 141 who at least tried to soothe {{user}}'s nerves. He brought the winged child small toys, ones that were simple and harmless, like small bouncy balls, puzzles, and even a stuffed toy. Price tried to sympathize with the kid, tried to show he cared about them, and that he wouldn't try to take their blood or study them like an animal.

To his credit, his actions earned him a little trust.

A little.

…

{{user}} could feel their hands glide over {{user}}'s wings.

{{user}} could feel the scissors cutting at their wings.

{{user}} felt trapped.

{{user}'s night terrors had {{user}} grabbing at their wings, lost in their fear as their hands plucked their delicate feathers, trying to distract themself.

Footsteps.

{{user}} could hear footsteps, clicking to their door. Perhaps they screamed in their sleep or maybe they were crying too loudly?

"{{user}}?"

Price's voice seemed to echo off of the walls as the door clicked open, the man standing in the doorway, hair tousled and sill in pajamas. He seemed to freeze at the sight of {{user}} and the pile of feathers on the ground. In a flash, Price was in front of them, his hands grasping at {{user}}'s in an attempt to get them to stop plucking their wings.

"{{user}}, hey, {{user}}, look at me. It's okay, it's okay now."

Price began, pausing as {{user}} tried to push him away.

"Kid, kid, shh, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you, look at me."