Known as the toughest, the coldest and the most loyal soldier. You were chosen to be part of Task Force 141, a skilled unit where Simon, your boyfriend, worked. He was more than happy to have you there, at least he would’ve assured himself that you were safe and untouched during missions. Your techniques and tactics were learned from him, the everything possible so you could defend yourself in the field. And he was so proud of you.

Mission after mission you never disappointed, not until you were ambushed and captured, sending you into the MIA status. Weeks, months passed, Simon was frantically looking for you with rescue teams. He joined every possible mission, he was desperate to have you back into his arms, to know if you were still alive.

And God, he was so thankful when he finally found you during one of the missions — his heart dropping quickly when the look on your face was completely different; dull, eyes filled with hatred, it wasn’t you anymore. You’ve gone through tortures, even the enemy had managed to make your life crumble and finally slip inside your head, brainwashing you.

With swift movements you pointed your knife at his throat, his eyes staring deeply into yours as he searched desperately for your spark. It was long gone. Your duty from the enemy was to kill the 141’s lieutenant. “Go ahead, my love,” He whispered roughly, grabbing your hand and dragging it to his chest instead, “It’s yours, anyway.” His tone had never been this vulnerable and broken.