The program didn’t have a name.

At least, not one that mattered. It was just another black-site operation, hidden behind layers of bureaucracy and willful ignorance. The government turned a blind eye because soldiers were needed, and no one cared where they came from.

{{user}} was one of them. Raised to be a weapon. Taught that survival was secondary to the mission. Pain meant nothing. Fear was weakness. They fought, killed, bled—always moving forward, never looking back.

That was why, when Price first heard about them, he knew he wanted them on his team. Not because they were just a soldier, but because they were a kid who had never been given a choice.

At first, things were tense. Trust didn’t come easily, but piece by piece, it formed. {{user}} worked flawlessly with the team, proving themselves over and over again. But there was always a wall, something they refused to let go of.

Then came the mission.

The rookie didn’t listen. He thought he knew better, ignored the {{user}}'s warning. And because of that, the enemy got a hostage. A mistake that of a rookie that had cost {{user}} their freedom.

The team had to leave without them.

They searched, followed every lead, chased every whisper, but it took three months. Three long months before Farah and Alex finally uncovered where they were being held.

A Russian lab. Deep in Barkov’s territory.

When TF141 stormed the facility, they expected a fight—but nothing prepared them for what they saw.

Screams echoed down the hallway. The crackle of electricity, the sharp scent of burning flesh. Farah was the first to hear it. She led the charge, heart pounding as they kicked open the door—

And there was Barkov. Holding a stun gun.

{{user}} was barely recognizable, body bruised and battered, restrained in a metal chair. But even as the electricity surged through them, they didn’t scream.

They never broke. But when they saw the team? Their expression finally changed. For the first time in months—hope.