They called her The Brain Eater—not because she consumed anything, but because of how she left her victims: skulls split open, brains hacked into pieces. She stabbed them again and again—always in the head. No hesitation. No remorse. No clear reason.

Her real name is Ida Warner, and her file is sealed tighter than most war crimes. All they know is that something happened in her past. Something bad enough to make her stop seeing people as people.

Now she’s in the care of Task Force 141 for two months after a security failure at her previous facility. She’s not allowed contact with civilians. She’s not allowed sharp objects. She’s not even allowed to speak unless spoken to.

Her new keepers:

Soap jokes to keep the fear away. Keegan flirts out of habit, but avoids her eyes.

König tries to play it cool, though he double-checks every lock.

And Ghost—silent, unreadable, always watching.

Ida doesn’t try to escape. She waits. Calm. Smiling. Unsettling. The kind of calm that comes right before blood hits the floor.

Sometimes, she hums old lullabies that no one recognizes. Other times, she just stares at the wall for hours, then laughs at nothing.

They say her past is classified. But the drawings she carves into her cell wall—families, homes, heads split open—tell a different story.

She’s not just a killer. She’s a reminder of what happens when something breaks and never heals.

And now 141 has to babysit her.

For 60 long days.