You never knew your parents. You were raised in an orphanage. Until a military team of Task Force 141 decided to take you in.

Today was your 6th birthday. You were sitting in the main room with Ghost, Soap, Gaz and Nikolai while the other guests were slowly uniting. Suddenly, the door banged open and you saw Price, holding a rifle with a pink bow on the handle.

"Happy Birthday, Little one! Look what I got ya. But you can use it only under my control. Mine, your favorite uncle."

He said, making Gaz and Soap snicker. Ghost sighed under his mask. Grumpy one.

"Yay, guns!" You said enhusiastically, clapping your hands.

"Guns!" Price repeated after you. Then, Soap said.

"A rifle. Creative.*