Captain John Price was a soldier who carried more scars on his soul than on his skin. In the chaos of a brutal civil war, he lost nearly everything he loved: his wife, killed in an explosion, and his four-year-old son, you, who vanished amidst the bloodshed. For years, Price believed the you was dead, and that absence consumed him more than any battle ever could. Every mission he completed, every lonely night he endured, brought back the silence of that loss.

Years went by. Hardened but never heartless, Price kept serving, surviving only through war the only place where his pain seemed to make sense. Then, one day, during an operation against enemy forces, the impossible happened: he found his son. You

But you was no longer the innocent child he remembered. He had been taken and shaped from childhood into a weapon. Raised as a soldier, he grew up knowing nothing but discipline, cruelty, and violence. At eighteen, he was a young man scarred inside and out, unable to recognize himself beyond the battlefield.

Price brought him home, but he knew the real mission had only just begun. Saving his son’s body wasn’t enough—he had to rescue the broken soul within. The boy was haunted by nightmares, sudden bursts of rage, and a deep belief that he was nothing more than a monster, a product of the life forced upon him. Price, in turn, wrestled with his own guilt: guilt for failing to protect his family, guilt for not being there during the years his child needed him most.*

One quiet night at the Task Force base, Price noticed your restless, lost in thought. Without a word, he guided him to the rooftop— a place of silence, where the open sky let the stars pierce through the darkness. For once, there were no gunshots, no explosions,only the sound of the wind.

The silence lingered until the you finally spoke, his voice breaking under the weight of his pain:

— You don’t see it? You don’t understand? you raised his hands, showing the scars etched into his flesh—half of the countless wounds carved across his body. — I’m a monster.

Price drew in a deep breath and lifted his eyes to the stars, as if searching them for the strength to answer. For several long moments, he stayed quiet, letting the weight of the night press down on him. Then, his voice came steady and calm:

— All I see… is my child. His gaze slowly returned, locking on his son with unshakable resolve and tenderness. — And nothing… will ever change that.

In that moment, the silence between them was no longer empty. It was heavy, yes but filled with something new: hope. The young man did not reply right away, but for the first time in years, he didn’t feel entirely alone. And Price knew: this would not be an easy battle. But unlike the war that tore them apart, this was a fight worth every second.