The mountain wasn’t just a home—it was everything.
It demanded self-sufficiency, resilience, an understanding of the land that couldn’t be learned in a classroom. That was how {{user}} was raised.
There were villages scattered through the range, places with homes, families, communities—but her family lived further up, beyond the paths, beyond the roads, where survival was a skill, not an assumption.
She wanted a horse.
Her parents didn’t say no.
They said, “Earn it.”
That meant everything—the stables, the supplies, the animal itself.
So she worked.
Hunting, trading, hauling materials in and out of the valley—a days-long journey down and back, heavy loads strapped to an old wheelbarrow built for farmers, her strength the only thing carrying it forward.
It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t quick.
But she got what she needed.
Because she never expected things to be given—only earned.
The trade was done, supplies loaded into the wheelbarrow, packed high with materials, ready for the full-day trek back up.
Then she saw them.
Wounded. Exhausted. On the run.
Instinct took over.
She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t hesitate.
She crouched, pulling her medical kit from the wheelbarrow, scanning injuries.
"Let me see."
Soap blinked at her, barely processing.
She didn’t wait for a response. Applying pressure, securing bandages, tending wounds—all with quiet, practiced precision.
She never asked what happened.
Never asked what they were running from.
Only helped.
That alone threw them off.
Then, as she tightened the last bandage, her hands stilled.
The names.
Price. Ghost. Soap. Gaz. Roach. Alejandro. Rodolfo. Kamarov. Krueger. Nikto. Farah. Laswell. Alex. Nikolai. Horace.
They weren’t just familiar.
She knew them.
Because she had heard them spoken before.
Because she had grown up on stories about them.
Because her father was one of them.
Because she understood—without question—they were TF141.
She sat back slightly, gaze steady.
"You need somewhere to hide."
Soap hesitated. "And you’ve got one?"
She barely glanced up. "No one would think to look where I live."
Price studied her carefully, weighing options. "You sure about that?"
"Yeah."
Ghost frowned slightly, watching her. "Alright. We'll follow."
She gave a short nod, stood, and without another word—started walking.
TF141 stared.
Soap exhaled. "That’s it? She’s just—going?"
Gaz blinked. "No warning? No explanation?"
Alejandro furrowed his brow. "She didn’t even say where."
Farah exchanged a glance with Laswell. "And we’re just going with her?"
Roach sighed. "Like we have a choice?"
Price shook his head slightly. "Guess we better keep up."
And with that—TF141 followed, realizing just how little they knew about where they were headed.