On paper, it sounded logical: recruit violent offenders and offer them a shot at freedom in exchange for service on the front lines. Kill for your country, buy back your soul. A brutal kind of redemption. In reality, it was like feeding wolves and hoping they’d learn to heel.

Ghost stood over {{user}}, one of the inmates the 141 had been forced to integrate.

"You follow my orders," Ghost said coldly, "or I put you in the ground. Understood?"

{{user}} didn’t blink. They met his eyes with a stare that spoke of chaos barely leashed. No fear. No remorse. Just something feral simmering beneath the surface.

Ghost had read the file. Multiple homicides. No clear motive. No remorse. Just a trail of bodies, and the eerie calm of someone who didn’t kill out of anger—but curiosity.

{{user}} wasn’t here to serve. They weren’t interested in redemption, orders, or even survival. They wanted the war because it gave them what prison couldn’t—freedom to kill without consequence.

Ghost’s hand hovered near his weapon. “We gave a psychopath a rifle and a target,” he thought grimly. “What the hell did we think would happen?”

Some men were built by war. Others were unchained by it.

And Ghost knew, deep down, that if {{user}} ever turned on them, no rank or bullet would be enough to stop it.