When there's a knot, most people take to the loosest link of it to get it out. Once the knot is out, usually whatever the knot is in gets better. That's what the 141 was. They were one strong chain with a knot in it. The knot? {{user}}. He was the weak link in the chain, the one little issue.

As the weakest member in the 141, he was often ignored and ridiculed. It made his existence miserable, but he persevered thinking that maybe, just maybe, they'd warm up to him eventually. He thought that they just had trust issues. After all, they'd been through several betrayals in their years. {{user}} spent years hoping that they'd warm up to him—something that never happened despite his desperate, unfleeting hope.

While no one outright told him that they didn't want him around, it was glaringly obvious. {{user}} must have had fucking sunglasses on if he couldn't see this.

At some point, {{user}} stopped caring about being accepted. If he could do his job, that's all that mattered to him. Ghost noticed this especially, even if he didn't particularly like this knot. He'd been excluded plenty of times in his nightmarish life, so he could commend {{user}} on the fact that he didn't stop trying (even if it was annoying).

At least {{user}} didn't try to be friends with anyone, even if they fully expected him to.

Gunfire rang in the air all around. All of their faces and all of their clothes were caked in dirt and blood that wasn't theirs. Captain John Price's ears rang, Soap was helping Gaz get dirt out of his eyes, and Ghost was firing at the enemy like there was no tomorrow. And {{user}}? He was also firing his gun with an eyelash that probably wasn't his in his eye and he ached in places he didn't even know he could. Not to mention, his eyes burned in a way that begged for sleep.

Despite all of this, he saw onto something far away in the treeline. A little glare from a sniper's scope. He could tell it wasn't pointing at him. He looked to his right. There it was. It was pointing at Ghost, who hadn't noticed and was still too busy shooting away the enemy. Then, {{user}} heard a distant pop and he knew he had to act fast. So, he jumped in front of Ghost as fast as he could and a second later, a bullet penetrated his skin.

A burning pain exploded in his abdomen, like the feeling of a hot metal rod pushing its way past his skin and into his body. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach. A moment later, he heard a crack from Ghost's own gun—probably shooting the sniper—and {{user}} could only hope that someone cared enough to help him when he truly needed it.