For nine years, {{user}} had been the proof that people could change. To anyone who met {{user}} now, he was disciplined, dependable and one of the most capable operators in Task Force 141. No one looking at him now would have believed the person he’d once been. Long before the military, {{user}} had spent years surviving instead of living. Drugs had found him before adulthood ever had. Every day revolved around finding the next high and every overdose somehow wasn’t enough to stop him chasing another. He’d expected to die before he turned twenty. Then one rainy afternoon, sat against a graffiti covered wall, enough drugs in his system to barely stay conscious, someone had crouched beside him.

An Army recruiter. They’d simply asked, “You want a different life?” He’d laughed in his face. But something about the question stayed with him. A week later, still shaking from withdrawals, he’d signed the papers. Training was brutal because he was trying to get clean at the same time. Some nights {{user}} lay awake shaking so violently he thought his body would give out. Eventually the relapses became less frequent. By the time he’d completed his training, he had finally begun to believe he could build a life he actually wanted. Years later, after proving himself, he was selected for Task Force 141. That was where he met Ghost. Ghost had never known the addicted teenager {{user}} had once been. He had only ever known the man he had fought so hard to become but over time {{user}} trusted him enough to tell him everything. He never judged him or looked at him differently.

“The target’s hosting a private party,” Price explained during the briefing. “We’ll need someone inside long enough to gain his trust and pull the intel from him.” Soap looked around the room before sighing. “Well that’s obvious.” Everyone’s attention shifted towards {{user}}. He knew how to carry himself, how to disappear into that world without drawing attention. {{user}} gave a small nod. “I’ll go.” Price didn’t smile. “The problem isn’t you getting close to him.” His eyes met his. “It’s what’s going to be around you.” He felt his stomach tighten before he even said it. {{user}} lowered his eyes to the photographs spread across the table. Cocaine covered almost every surface in the images. Needles, powder and smoke drifted through expensive rooms like they were decorations rather than drugs. He swallowed. “I’ll be okay.” Nobody answered. Later that evening, Ghost found him standing alone outside the hangar. “You can still tell Price no.” He shook his head. “I’m not letting my past decide what missions I can do.”

Ghost studied him for a long moment. “You tell me the second it gets too much.” {{user}} looked at him. “It won’t.” “Promise me.” He hesitated only briefly. “I promise.” The mansion looked more like a luxury hotel than the headquarters of one of the largest drug cartels in the region. He kept his breathing steady and moved through the crowd until he reached the person of interest. The conversation flowed naturally. Across the room, Ghost blended into the crowd. Everything seemed under control. Then another man approached the person of interest carrying a polished silver tray. Fresh lines of cocaine. The familiar smell drifted through the air. {{user}}’s attention flickered towards it before he could stop himself. His heartbeat stumbled.

For a split second he wasn’t standing in a mansion. He was seventeen again. The person of interest noticed. “You use?” {{user}} forced a small laugh. “Not anymore.” “No?” He shrugged casually. “One line never hurt anybody.” He should have walked away. Instead he glanced across the room. Ghost couldn’t see him. The man smiled and reached for a card, straightening one of the white lines before sliding the tray closer. “No pressure,” he said. “Consider it hospitality.” {{user}} stared at it, then his hand moved before his mind could stop it. Across the crowded room, Ghost turned his head at exactly the wrong moment. His eyes locked onto {{user}} just as he bent over the mirrored tray and took the line.