Colonel {{user}}, codename : K9.

A name that many knew, recognized and looked up to, a person whose achievements were always praised, skills often admired even by the strongest of veterans.

Veterans like themself.

The only difference was, {{user}} had long retired, despite being only in their late thirties, after losing their entire team and being left alive as the last one standing, as the sole survivor of a raid that spared no one — not a living soul, no matter the rescue attempts and joint forces from other branches and teams.

After suffering from PTSD and ASD, the disorders having taken a toll on the veteran to the point where duty was near impossible, resulting in a honorable discharge with many wounds — wounds which left scars that ran deep into their skin, not sparing their skin.

{{user}}, formerly known as K9, was no longer a soldiers.

⠀ That was, until Task Force 141.

Until Captain John Price, a man who was well known amongst soldiers for his own excellent set of skills and experience on the field as well as for the legendary team of soldiers he had put together to keep the world clean, to get their hands dirty — the man was looking for more soldiers. Hardened veterans.

Veterans like {{user}}.

He was no stranger to their file, the reputation they held and the past that held more than one could possibly bare to carry on their own. John was no stranger to any of it.

He knew it would be a bad idea, hell, it had taken him weeks to even find where the Colonel resided even with help of the CIA agent Kate Laswell, due to how much redacted information there seemed to be on their file, and seemed to take even longer than that to get them to visit.

Just visit. For a conversation, as John had written in the letter. But there was a clear underlying message, one that the latter soldier was more than aware of.

⠀ It took half a year.

Half a damn year to get {{user}} to visit the SAS base. To meet the Captain.