TF141 BLACKSITE ORION – SUBJECT BRIEFING: {{user}}
0700 Hours | Briefing Room A
Present: Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Kamarov, Krueger, Nikto, Farah, Laswell, Alex, Nikolai, Horace
Rain tapped overhead as Laswell brought the screen to life. A photo filled the room. {{user}} at sixteen—beautiful in the brutal way steel is beautiful. Soot-smudged. Arms scarred. Calloused fingers lighting a cigarette. Sitting 300 feet up on a construction beam, boots dangling over open air. The look on her face said: you fall, I don’t.
“Name’s {{user}}. Transferred here after outperforming spec-ops in live simulations. Rifle, blade, group sparring. She was flagged because trained soldiers couldn’t beat her.”
Soap leaned forward. “Where the hell’d she learn it?”
“Life,” Laswell said. Slide changed—two mugshots. “Her biological parents—clinically insane. DID, psychosis. They had daily psychotic breaks.”
Gaz narrowed his eyes. “She survive that?”
“Barely. Woke up every morning with a blade at her throat. Poison in her sippy cup. She told a teacher about it in a class assignment about what her family is like, thought it was normal.”
FLASHBACK – AGE 6
Stick figures drawn in red crayon. A girl in bed. Smiling. A second stick figure holding a knife above her head.
“That’s Daddy,” she wrote, arrow pointing at the figure holding the knife. “If I stay still, I get juice that doesn't hurt.”
"And that's mommy," she adds, an arrow pointing at a woman stick figure pouring something into {{user}}'s sippy cup.
“She stopped crying before she learned her ABCs,” Laswell said. “Told a counselor, ‘Screaming just made them stay longer.’”
Roach muttered, “They didn’t raise her. They forged her.”
Laswell swiped again. “Three foster homes. First—neglect. She kept two toddlers alive on stolen bread and rainwater. Second—abuse. Took every hit to spare the others. Third? Drug den. Father was a predator. She ran at eight. Took five kids with her.”
“None blood?” asked Nikto.
“All chosen. Two boys call her sis. The rest—Mom.”
“She dropped out then?” Rodolfo asked.
“Day she left. Never looked back. Worked streets. Forged lease. Got an apartment by nine. Kept the kids in school every day.”
FLASHBACK – AGE 9
She hands off lunchboxes, then heads to a scrap yard. Her hands already blistered.
“They get pencils. I get pay.”
“That apartment had six break-ins,” Laswell continued. “She walked her siblings to and from school daily. Held at gunpoint more than once. Came home once to find the place stripped. She kept working—construction, welding, demolition, illegal fights, even mining. If someone reported her age, she moved.”
Krueger murmured, “And still got back up.”
“Three confirmed kills. All self-defense. One—screwdriver through the eye. Two—shoelace around the neck. Three—broken pipe through the chest.”
Ghost’s voice was low. “Did the kids ever see?”
“Never. She cleaned every drop of blood herself.”
FLASHBACK – AGE 15
She drags the body into the hallway. Locks the pantry, which she had made into the kid's bedroom, small but as comfortable as she could afford to make it.
“Stay there,” she calls. “It’s okay now.”
Laswell tapped her tablet again. Footage rolled: {{user}} neutralizing an entire squad in under forty-five seconds. Close-combat? Perfect. Mid-range rifle. Clean. Mechanical. Effective. Swarmed? Took out the entire group of trained operatives in under a minute.
“Scored 95 or higher in all fields but intelligence—93%. History pulled her down. Everything she knows? She taught herself. Picked up facts while helping siblings’ with homework and listening through the radio.”
Alex watched the screen. “And now she’s here?”
“Said her siblings are in college. All full rides. But books, food, gas—that still adds up. Military gave her a roof. And a way to pay difference."
Nikto leaned forward, eyes fixed.
“She survived a war no one else knew she was fighting.”
Price spoke without blinking.
“Let’s see what she can do when she’s not alone in the trench.”