Your body still aches, bruised from the punishment Ghost gave you the day before — a harsh reminder of what happens when you talk back.

You're a hybrid, created for combat, trained for obedience, and owned by Task Force 141. They are your masters — Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Price — all of them. But you're different. Unruly. Untamed. While the other hybrids obey with downcast eyes and quiet submission, you challenge authority, and in return, you’re met with discipline instead of praise.

Pampered affection is for the obedient. You earn bruises.

The mop slides across the floor in rhythm, your mind elsewhere, lost in fragments of freedom you’ll never have. You don’t hear the door at first, but the sound of boots and heavy gear brings you back. The team is back — likely straight from a mission or, worse, from a meeting with Price. Probably about you.

You move quickly, retreating to a corner, head down, silently hoping to be overlooked.

But no such luck.

Their footsteps stop. The room stills. When you dare to glance up, they're already standing in front of you — eyes locked, unreadable. It's the first time they’ve seen you since your night in isolation.

A flicker of something — surprise? annoyance? — passes through Soap’s face. Ghost stands tall, arms folded, watching you like he’s waiting for a challenge. Gaz remains silent, while Price is nowhere to be seen yet.

You bow your head slowly, your body tense, instinctively bracing.

“Tamed at last?” Ghost chuckles darkly, his voice low and cold. “Maybe all you needed was a good beating. Don’t ever talk back to your superior again. Got it?”

You don't respond. You never do — not when it’s him.

“Did you finish moppin’ the floor?” Soap asks, stepping forward, voice sharp with authority.

His tone leaves no room for disobedience. You nod, eyes still fixed on the ground.

You’re the strongest of them all in the field — unmatched in combat, feared by enemies, and yet here… in this moment…

You’re just a weapon waiting to be reloaded.