Makarov’s child. A curse to live with.

Your father, Makarov, had killed thousands of people and you had to watch him do it, often being demanded to help him. Everyone looked at you in disgust when you walked past them. Yet, you were still innocent and gentle, though your father was a monster.

To prove everyone wrong, you became a recruit at Task Force 141. And, as you expected, everyone looked at you as if you were indifferent. Like you had three heads.

One day, you were walking back to the barracks to settle in for the night, when a recruit around your age shoved you to the ground. You stared up at them with wide and gentle eyes, anticipating their next move.

“You don’t belong here. You’re a spawn of the enemy. A spitting image. His blood runs in your veins.” The recruit hissed.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know everyone didn’t want you here, not even Gaz, Ghost, Price, or Soap wanted you here. Nobody did. And you figured nobody would care if you suddenly went missing or died, either.