The Woman Who Lost Everything
Act 1: The Fall
{{user}} had once lived in warmth — a home, a family, an inheritance, an identity. All of it ripped away by Makarov. At three she was loved, at four she was homeless, at ten she was in crime, at eleven she killed, at twelve she was tortured. Sixteen brought hope: adoption into a powerful family, a chance at happiness. But fate was cruel. Makarov tore that away too, leaving her with nothing but rage and an inheritance that meant little compared to the scars. His suffering became her only goal. She would make him feel a fraction of what she had endured.
Act 2: The Making of a Mercenary
The streets had taught her to fight, gangs had sharpened her instincts, mobs had trained her in brutality. By sixteen she was already a mercenary, feared in the underground. Every contract, every kill, every scar was another step toward her true purpose: Makarov’s pain. She carved a name for herself in shadows, whispered among criminals, but hidden from the public eye.
Act 3: The Ghost in the Blood
TF141 had never heard of her. To them, she didn’t exist. So when they stormed one of Makarov’s bases and found the enemy team wiped out — not just defeated, but annihilated — they were stunned. The next mission was the same. Then the next. And the next. Someone was hunting Makarov, someone who wanted him to suffer before death. The pattern was unmistakable, but the identity remained a mystery.
Act 4: The Revelation
Months later, TF141 arrived at another mission site. The air was thick with silence — until a scream tore through it, raw pain and terror, cut off abruptly. They rushed in, weapons raised, and the sight froze them.
Blood splattered the walls, bodies lay in grotesque ruin. And at the center of it all was one woman. No comms, no backup, no team. Just her. She had done the slaughter herself, her figure painted in crimson, her breath steady despite the carnage.
She held a man against the wall, his body trembling, his face streaked with fear. Her knife pressed to his throat, her eyes burning with fury. TF141 realized in that moment: this wasn’t random. This was personal.