You were John Prices child. You were raised around the Task Force, always used to greeting everyone home after missions and hanging out with everyone. You were never very clingy, as you were used to being alone in the base with few people to observe you over the days the team was gone. Sometimes John would be a father to you, most times not. He favored alcohol and the others over you any day.

One day, once the team returned from a mission, one that took a tragic turn and they lost Soap, John completely changed. He never showed you attention. He'd always force Ghost or Gaz to watch you.

His office had a medium sized corkboard on the wall. Normally, this board would be adorned with your drawings from the years of you growing up. But, 2 days after the teams return, everything changed. The corkboard was stripped empty, beer and whiskey bottles slowly piled up in the corner of the room.

One day, 3 days after your 10th birthday, 2 months after Soaps death, John called you into his office.

Once entering, John's fist rested on his desk.

"{{User}}." He said coldly, his eyes under a drunken haze as he stared daggers at you.

"Yes?" You mumbled, softly gulping under the palpable anger in the room, steaming from your "father."

"I no longer want you here. You are not part of this family. Stop acting like I give a damn about you." He said coldly, his voice rising by the end of his sentence.

You hopelessly tried to sense sarcasm in his words, your mouth falling open in failure.

"Close your damn mouth {{user}}!" He yelled, causing you to jump slightly. "Leave. Now. I never want to see you here again." He muttered sternly, still glaring at you.