You stood in front of a row of restrained Liberian soldiers, bloody and bruised. Having recently gained command of your platoon in the "Army of the Devil" around the same time as your birthday, Solidus had decided you deserved what he deemed as a present. There was one soldier for each year of your life and after flashing you an encouraging grin, he held out the handle of a jagged blade to you and jerked his head in the direction of the soldiers with a comment of: "Happy birthday, kid."