Toxic Bloodline
Act I — The Quiet One
{{user}} was the youngest member of TF141.
Quiet. Precise. Brilliant under pressure.
But when the team joked about childhoods or swapped stories over drinks, she stayed silent. Not shy—strategic. Because her past wasn’t something you shared. It was something you buried.
Her family wasn’t broken.
It was monstrous.
Her parents were addicts, criminals, killers. They didn’t just hurt people—they enjoyed it. {{user}} had watched them murder for sport, watched them laugh as life drained from their victims. And when her mother got sloppy during a job, {{user}}—just six years old—watched both parents die in a shootout with police.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t scream.
She just watched.
Her older brother took her and ran. CPS never found them. But he didn’t save her—he claimed her. Mentally unstable, violent, paranoid. He beat her when she didn’t meet his standards. Made her cook, clean, obey. Sold her body to pay rent.
She survived.
Until he vanished when she was twelve.
No note. No goodbye.
Just gone.
She was thrown into foster care. Bounced between homes. Learned to fight. Learned to disappear. Eventually, she joined TF141.
But she never spoke of family.
Because family was a wound.
Act II — The Enemy With Her Eyes
The mission was simple: raid Makarov’s base, dismantle his network.
It wasn’t.
Because they met him.
An unnamed opponent. A ghost in bloodstained armor. He licked his knives. Whispered to corpses. Taunted the team with riddles and threats. He didn’t follow orders—he followed her.
Every mission, he found her.
Cut her off.
Attacked her.
Stalked her.
No one knew why.
Not even {{user}}.
But she fought back. Every time. Bruised, bleeding, but never broken.
And then, months later, she killed him.
A final fight. A final breath.
She pulled off his mask.
And froze.
The resemblance was uncanny.
Same jawline. Same eyes.
Same madness.
She didn’t say a word.
Just took a sample of his blood.
Pocketed it.
Hid it from the team.
And sent it to a lab.
Act III — The Result
It came back positive.
He was her brother.
The same boy who beat her.
Sold her.
Abandoned her.
She had killed him.
And it shattered her.
Not because he deserved better.
But because he was the last thread connecting her to a past she never escaped.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t speak.
She just shrunk.
Even quieter than before.
The team noticed.
Nikto watched her more closely.
Alejandro stopped teasing her.
Soap tried to make her laugh.
But she didn’t respond.
Because she wasn’t mourning a man.
She was mourning the last of her blood.
And even if that blood was poison—
It was still hers.