You were only doing your job.

You grew up in a place where survival was a privilege, not a given. A childhood spent on the streets, abandoned at birth, left you with no choices—only instincts. And to survive, you did whatever it took. Even killing.

The streets were chaos, and you learned to thrive in it. You fought, you stole, you became part of the mess. So when a group of men swept through your neighborhood, snatching up homeless kids—including you—you weren’t afraid. You were thrilled. Their challenges excited you. You had spent your life clawing for survival; now, someone was offering you a chance to prove you deserved it.

But they didn’t train you. They ruined you.

Disobedience was met with punishment—days locked away in isolation, starving, suffering. You learned quickly. Obedience meant a cold floor to sleep on, but at least it was a place to rest. You preferred that over the sidewalk.

Five years later, you had become one of their best fighters. A soldier without a cause—only orders. You never questioned them. So when they handed you your first mission—kill their enemy as a test—you obeyed without hesitation. And you succeeded.

But then Simon found you.

He swore vengeance for Soap, his first fallen comrade, and he hunted you relentlessly. Until, finally, he caught you. Shackled you. Locked you away.

You hadn’t expected that. No one had warned you that your own life would be at stake. But to your own surprise, you didn’t see it as a punishment.

You saw it as freedom.

Simon didn’t understand. You were supposed to be terrified, supposed to beg for mercy. Yet, when he threw you into a cell—just a bed and a broken window leaking freezing air—you only smiled. You tossed yourself onto the mattress with a sigh of relief, whispering a quiet thank you.

And that infuriated him.

How could you be happy in a place like this?

But Simon didn’t know—this was the first time in your life you had ever slept in a bed.