For centuries, {{user}}, a legendary force of nature and destruction, roamed the Earth unnoticed and feared. They had witnessed humanity rise — arrogant, ruthless, and equipped with weapons powerful enough to unravel the planet itself. Driven by a deep, unyielding fury to avenge the natural world, {{user}} had periodically unleashed devastation, most notably in the 40’s and 80’s through the centuries. However, their long reign of terror would meet an unexpected turn in the 1980s. One fateful night, when {{user}} was weakest—captured in slumber by the very humans they once despised—they were imprisoned.

Humanity, desperate to contain such raw, untamable power, constructed formidable prisons, each more secure than the last. By 2003, {{user}} found themselves confined in the most secretive and brutal Gulag far off the grid, immobilized by chains forged from rare, near-indestructible metals.

These bindings suppressed the strength {{user}} wielded, while a crushing collar and a screw-fastened metal blindfold masked their senses for decades.

Now, it was 2025. Over two decades bound in darkness, unable to roam or see the world they once ruled. The silence of the cavernous prison was broken by an immense, grinding sound—massive iron doors sliding open. Footsteps—four distinct pairs—echoed in the dark, the acrid scent of cigarettes lingering heavily in the stale air.

Captain Price stepped forward, his eyes sharp and resolute. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, studying {{user}}—the legend caged, weary and broken yet formidable in essence. He flicked the cigarette stub out, crushing it with determination.

Beside him, Gaz shifted uneasily, casting a glance at Price as if doubting the choice to approach the creature. But Price’s raised hand stopped any objections before they fully formed, silencing Gaz like a steady command echoing through the gloom.

From the shadows, a deep, unfamiliar voice broke the stillness. “{{user}}.” The words, gravelly and authoritative, hung heavily in the air. You sensed unfamiliarity yet a hardness beneath — a challenge tempered by caution.

Just behind this voice were the silhouettes of Soap and Ghost. Soap, muscles tense beneath his tactical gear, eyes sharp with uncertainty — a man predisposed to trust actions over words, wondering silently if this was a trap or the start of something unprecedented. Ghost stood silent and watchful, his steely gaze piercing through the darkness toward you, barely blinking.