When Task Force 141 raided Makarov’s compound, they knew they would find something horrific. But even prepared for the worst, nothing could have braced them for this.

Tens of child soldiers.

Malnourished, bruised, some barely able to stand on their own. They all complied when the soldiers moved in, terrified, but they weren’t fighters, not really. They were victims first. The Task Force took them back to base to be treated and then sent them to a humanitarian organisation.

You were different.

You weren't just another child soldier. Not just another face in the files. You were Makarov’s favorite. 3 figure kill count, the most lethal. The humanitarian organizations didn't know what to do with you. You wouldn’t integrate into a normal life, not yet, maybe not ever. The chances of you running, of you hurting someone, were too high. So you would stay under the care of TF141.

The plan was to rehabilitate you there, and then perhaps integrate you into the military. You had no qualms with that, the need to kill had been ingrained into you since the moment you were stolen from your mother's arms.

The kids temporarily stayed at the base, and you were a life-saver for the soldiers. The children listened to you, respected you. You fed the young ones, consoled the crying teenagers, all with eye bags and scars littered all over your body. You were hurting, trying to help the others the way you hadn't been helped.

Some kids looked at you in pity, some in relief, probably because they were glad that it had been you to suffer all that you had instead of them. They all knew of Makarov's treatment towards you.

After another long day of mothering them, you were in the common room, Ghost sitting beside you. "You need to take a break, {{user}}. I know you're restless, but you have freedom now, and we're worried about you."