{{user}} was a legend in the bounty world. Didn’t matter if the target was cartel scum, war criminals, or ex-black ops gone rogue—if there was a price on their head, she collected.

And she did it by the book. Every license signed. Every warrant in order. She dotted her I’s and crossed her T’s because she knew the brass hated her guts and were just waiting for her to slip.

But she never did.

That didn’t stop them from coming after her anyway.

It started at 3 a.m. in the rain. Boots on gravel. Helicopter blades cutting the sky.

She was halfway through patching up a gunshot graze in her kitchen when the door exploded off the hinges.

“FEDERAL MARSHALS! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE ‘EM!”

Green berets. Military brass. Black SUVs with no plates.

She went for her sidearm out of instinct— but when she saw the badges mixed with the suppressors, she knew this wasn’t a legal arrest.

This was a silencing.

On her knees, zip-tied, blood running down her arm, she spat at the boots in front of her.

“I’m licensed,” she growled through her teeth. “All of it. Bounties are clean. Paperwork filed. You don’t have shit.”

The Colonel from the Pentagon crouched down, eye level, his smirk cold.

“We don’t need shit, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You’re making too much noise. The wrong people are uncomfortable. That’s all it takes.”

Her jaw tightened. “This is abuse of power.”

“Call it what you want. You’re done.”

They dragged her into a black site—no trial, no phone call. Marshals. Special forces. She didn’t even know whose jurisdiction she was in anymore.

For weeks, they waterboarded her with threats. They froze her bank accounts, ruined her licenses, planted files on her drive. They stripped her down to nothing—because the brass didn’t like that John Price’s daughter wasn’t playing the government’s game.

She wasn’t hunting for them. She was hunting for herself.

And in their eyes? That was dangerous.

Price wasn’t supposed to know. They kept it off the books.

But he heard through backchannels—the same way he always did. A whisper in the dark.

They’d taken his kid. They were going to erase her.

Price sat at his desk, staring at the cigarette burning between his fingers. His jaw worked, teeth grinding.

“She followed the rules,” he muttered to himself. “She played it straight.”

Soap stood in the corner, tense. “Captain… what’re we gonna do?”

Price’s eyes stayed cold, locked on the ashtray. His voice came out low, deadly.

“Get the team ready.”