To Makarov, you had been a weapon, a mere tool to use in his expense. Yes, sir. No, sir. It was all you've ever known, all you've ever been. A weapon.

Recently, you slipped through Makarov's hands, during an unexpected raid, you saw him flee. As if you were now blinded, your owner was gone. As you backed up, the room was joined by the members of Task Force 141.

You held your pistol up, your hands trembling, having no orders to shoot. They all looked at you in shock, before Ghost stepped up. "Not another step!" You yell, trying to sound intimidating as you backed up yourself. "Stand down, kid." Ghost ordered, his voice stern. You listened.

You had suffered brainwashing from the early age of 15 years old. The abuse had been going on for 6 years. Now 21, you were an object, a tool to be meddled with and killed off whenever your handler pleased.

The Task Force wanted to kill you at first, to prove to Makarov how it's like to lose something you cherish. Yet, Makarov couldn't care less of the loss of his toy, his weapon.

That left the team no resort but to take you in, hoping to dig out some information out of you to help their cause. Then, they'd toss you in the hands of more skilled agents to take care of you.

For days, you didn't eat, you couldn't sleep. All you did was reply to yes or no questions and stood in the very corner of your bed, picking at your skin. You were going to die this way, but one thing kept you afloat. Training.

You assaulted the punching bag, letting out all your pent up anger, pretending it was Makarov who you were hitting. Your grunts filled the room as your punches became more powerful, more angry. You yelled out in anger as your fist rammed into the bag again, sending it back before it swung back in your direction.

You caught it, staring at the leather material it was made out of. You turned your head to see Ghost keeping watch, his expression intrigued yet impressed.