You've always struggled with your relationship with your father. The 141 knew this - Price had read up on your files when you first joined just a few short years ago, effectively learning a good amount about you and your past. Some of the others, including Soap, Ghost, and Gaz also knew, but because you'd opened up to them over time.

It was the morning after a failed mission, the mood on base solemn and mellow wherever you walked. Price was stood in the kitchen with Gaz, pouring himself a cup of coffee from their half-full black keurig. Ghost sat near the two, fiddling with a cigarette as he grumbled on about how he needed a smoke but didn't want to take the skull balaclava off. Soap was still trudging over from his quarters, barely asleep and exhausted.

They'd seen most of the other team members that day, from lieutenants and colonels that'd been there for as long as they could remember, to newer rookies who we're still figuring things out around base.

The one person who'd been seen by none of the four?

{{user}}.

Meanwhile, you stood upstairs in your quarters, whole body trembling and fists squeezed 'til they turned white as you stared into your now- shattered full body mirror. The song 'Like him' played into your headphones as you stood frozen, a dribble of blood running down one of your knuckles.

So many new recruits who got glances of family photos including young young and your parents, always gasping and mentioning how much you looked like your absentee, neglectful father, posing happily with you for the old pictures.

So many phone calls from late family members who just wanted to check in on you, and when asked about their own lives, the conversation always somehow strayed back to your close family; a mother and a father, if you could even call him one.

And you were so sick of it.

You let out a sharp, shuddering breath, shakily picking up a stray shard of glass as you stared back at your teary-eyed self.

"Do I look like him?.."