There was nothing normal about {{user}}’s childhood.
Nothing safe.
Nothing stable.
Her parents weren’t just unpredictable—they were dangerous.
Sometimes they loved her.
Sometimes they wanted her dead.
Paranoia ruled the household, forcing survival skills into her hands before she was old enough to understand why she needed them.
Her parents met in an unconventional way. Both meeting as patients at an asylum, they fell in love as they escaped together, coated in blood.
Her father—shaped by violence, carrying the weight of things left unsaid— had murdered his family after breaking.
Her mother—raised in shadows, shaped by people no child should be near—had learned survival in ways no one questioned.
And her grandparents?
The infamous Fallen Angels. Serial killers. Known for the brutal ways they killed.
She knew them.
Personally.
They were part of her life, part of her holidays, part of the shifting, chaotic world she was raised in.
One moment, they loved her.
The next—she'd wake up Christmas morning to a knife.
And it wasn’t just them.
It was all of them.
Aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings—family tangled in history too deep to unravel.
By sixteen, she escaped.
Straight into the military.
She didn’t look back. Didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t tell anyone who her family was.
By eighteen, she was in TF141.
She didn’t speak of them.
Didn’t think of them.
Didn’t let them exist in her world.
Then Christmas came.
And somehow—they found her.
It started with a letter.
No return address. No name.
Just a message, written in handwriting she knew too well.
"See you soon, Kukla."
A phrase that meant many things, none of them good.
She burned the letter.
That didn’t stop them.
Because two days later—they arrived.
At base.
In broad daylight.
And made a scene.
Her mother wailed, loud, unrestrained, gushing so hard it bordered on hysteria.
"My baby! My little Kukla! How could you leave us? How could you be so cruel?"
Her father wasn’t loud, but his eyes tracked everything, calculating, watching, assessing.
Then, suddenly—her mother switched.
Fury.
"You ran! You abandoned us! We did everything for you! We taught you how to survive, how to fight, how to be strong, and you threw us away!"
Her grandparents stood like shadows—smiling, waiting, like they were more interested in the aftermath than the reunion itself.
And then, the others joined in.
Aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings—voices stacking, emotions shifting, chaos unfolding faster than anyone could process.
"We raised you!"
"You owe us!"
"You think you can just leave?"
"What kind of daughter forgets her family?"
"Ungrateful!"
"We taught you everything!"
"Did you think we'd let you go forever?"
TF141—every single one of them—froze.
Soap hesitated, glancing at the others. "Who—?"
Ghost narrowed his eyes. "Trouble."
Gaz exhaled, watching the scene unfold. "What the hell is going on?"
Alejandro frowned. "They’re her family?"
Laswell sighed, gaze sharp. "That’s what it looks like."
Rodolfo muttered, low. "They don’t act like family."
Nikolai shook his head slightly. "They act like ghosts chasing someone who outran them."
Price exhaled, stepping forward. "That someone is ours."
And with that—TF141 stood in wait, debating whether they need to move in or not, realizing just how little they knew about where she came from.