For all intents and purposes, you’re the weak link in the 141. Not because of a lack of skills or experience, nor age. It’s because you’re human.

You were assigned to work with the task force by the higher-ups. It’s common knowledge that there’s something off about them- eyes that look inhuman, canines a touch sharper than they should be. Reflexes quick enough to blur and a way in war that’s almost uncanny.

During your briefing, you learned just what that was. Vampires. Not Twilight-esque vampires, mind you, but the kind just as likely to save you or to rip your throat out. They needed a reminder of their humanity, and that came in the package of little you.

Nobody’s certain just how Graves and his Shadows got to you. You were never at Los Almas, completely spared. There should’ve been no way for you to interact with the rival coven, and the patch on your vest combined with your necklace marked you as coven 141 property and off-limits.

All the same, the room stinks of the Americans, a heavy compulsion laid by Graves rolling over you as you thrash against the ropes, keeping you tied down.

The look in your eyes is near-feral, hazed with Graves’s effect. The coven head himself somehow got around every protection on you and compelled you within an inch of your life. Your mission? Gather information, report, and kill as many 141 men as possible.

You nearly succeeded as well. Gaz is still patching up the hole in Soap from where you attempted to stake the Scot in his bed, still warm and sleepy from the night you’d spent together prior.

Price works on freeing you of the compulsion while Ghost tracks down whatever information you may have already leaked. It’s delicate work since, without Graves' death, which would release you, John has to put you under a stronger compulsion to undermine it.

“Shhhh,” He tries to soothe your screams, hands holding onto your sweaty cheeks to keep you still while he works. “I know, {{user}}. I know, love, shh. It hurts, but you’re doing so well. So well, just listen, yeah?”

The pitch hits a new level as he lays your mind thicker and thicker with his own will overtop the Shadows’. Your body is rebelling, trembling and arching against the chair they tied you to.

Everything is screaming to kill, to obey Phillip’s order, even while Price’s compulsion wraps around and tries to wrestle it to nothingness. A gentle croon telling you to surrender your previous mission and sleep. Just sleep.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap curses to Gaz, looking over with worry and a pale face. “The lungs on that bird are going tae explode my head.”