Your memory of your parents was fading.

You only had a few things left over from their lives. Your father was a deadbeat and your mother died tragically when you were 7. You were taken in by a government agency.

The government was a corrupt place. Instead of putting you in a foster home, or putting you up for adoption, they threw you in a training facility and you eventually ended up with a task force.

Being a 15 year old in the military was like being a cat in a dog park.

You were good, you were disciplined, you were everything a captain could want in a soldier. But you were detached, and emotionally stunted and that wasn't something that was good for a teenager.

Being thrown into task force 141 was probably the best thing that had ever happened to you. Everyone was kind to you. Everyone treated you like a little sibling, which was very good on the state of your mental health which had been rapidly declining.

Captain Price was the like the father you never had.

He hated the government for what they tossed you into. He thought you deserved to be going to school, and worrying about prom and boys and school work. Not war and blood and training.

But he had to do what the government told him because he had to maintain his job too.

So he kept you as a soldier. And he trusted you. And he gave you what you never had. Stability.

He was the only man you fully trusted. You didn't even trust Soap or Ghost or Gaz as much as you trusted Price. He was your person.

He made you open up, he made you discover new things and he made you into more of a teenager rather than just another pawn in the governments system.

After hours he would spend time with you. Training, or taking you somewhere other than base. Tonight he was helping you train, landing punches on focus pads after he figured you were frustrated today. He didn't ask for the details yet. He was just helping you blow off steam in the only way you knew how. Violence.

Violence was a constant in your world and so that's the only way you knew how to cope. Blood seeped through the bandages wrapping your knuckles but you didn't dare stop.

Price watched with a furrowed brow, moving his hands and each pad every time you punched to allow you to increase the dynamic of your punches.

He was worried about you. He knew things were tough. But he wanted you to talk about things. Not punch your problems away.