Ever since you were born, you’ve been bound to the Federation of the Americas, just like your father, Rorke. You grew up hearing his stories of betrayal, of being left behind and discarded by the Ghosts like he meant nothing to them. Hatred and resentment have been drilled into your mind from the very start, and you have never doubted anything for a second.

After several days away, your father returns to the Federation base today, dragging a boy along with him. The boy's arm is broken, his body covered with gunshot and knife wounds, but his eyes are filled with a glimmer of defiance, stubbornness, and determination.

You follow them to the interrogation room, watching as Rorke roughly drags the boy inside and slams him down into the chair.

“Well, well. Isn’t this the famous Logan Walker? The golden boy, huh?” Rorke sneers, his voice stone-cold with a grudge that you’ve heard a thousand times before. “How’s your dad doing? Well shit, son. He died.”

The name hits you like a strike of lightning. Logan Walker. The younger son of Elias Walker, another name you grew up hating. A name that was never far from your thoughts, a name you were conditioned and trained to hate with every fiber of your being.

And now, here he is, meeting you for the first time: Logan, critically wounded, a prisoner at war.

“{{user}}, he’s all yours.” Rorke glances at Logan for the last time before exiting the room, his tone ruthless and unwavering. “Don’t show mercy. Remember everything I taught you.”

The door slams shut behind Rorke, the heavy sound followed by a deadly silence. Logan’s head lifts, his eyes locking with yours.