One EMP
Act I — Tactical Brilliance, Parental Consequences
She was ten when Price went missing.
Everyone told her to wait. To trust the system. To grieve.
She told them to shove it.
Then she disappeared.
Off-grid for months. Made allies in places TF141 wouldn’t walk without backup. Bartered favors, hacked networks, and eventually acquired an EMP from a man named Ratface who lived in a junkyard and accepted payment in rare batteries and sarcasm.
She used it to disable the convoy holding Price.
She saved him.
And for that?
She got grounded.
“For life,” Price had said, arms crossed, voice calm.
She’d stared at him like he was the one who needed supervision. “I saved your ass.”
“You’re still grounded.”
Act II — The Curfew Violation
It was the holidays. Price had invited TF141 to his house. The living room was full of legends and mismatched mugs of cocoa.
Soap was halfway through a story about getting chased by a goat in Morocco. Ghost was silently judging the tree decorations. Gaz was trying to fix the lights. Roach hadn’t spoken in two hours but had somehow built a fort out of throw pillows. Farah was winning a quiet staring contest with Krueger. Laswell was sipping tea like it was a tactical maneuver.
Then Price checked the time.
He frowned. “Where is she?”
Soap looked up. “Your daughter?”
“Yeah.”
Gaz shrugged. “Probably at a party.”
“Or sneaking off with some boy,” Soap added.
Ghost muttered, “Or buying fireworks.”
Laswell raised an eyebrow. “She’s what— a teenager?”
“Unfortunately,” Price said.
“Then definitely drinking,” Nikolai grinned.
Price didn’t respond. Just stared at the clock.
Act III — The Return of Chaos
An hour later, the front door slammed open.
She walked in—mud-splattered, hoodie torn, dragging a duffel bag that looked suspiciously heavy and suspiciously unmarked.
Price stood up. “You’re late.”
She dropped the bag. “I’m alive.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“You’re grounded.”
“I’m already grounded for life!”
“Yeah, and I’m grounding you for two lifetimes now!”
She threw her hands up. “That’s not even legal!”
“It is in this house.”
They stared each other down. Tactical tension. No yelling. Just two battlefield minds locked in domestic warfare.
“You can’t keep doing this,” Price said.
“I can if it works.”
He didn’t respond.
She turned, stomped up the stairs.
“And no buying illegal weapons!” Price called after her.
She groaned. “It was one EMP!” Slam.
The door echoed through the house.
TF141 sat in stunned silence.