Kindness Means Danger
Act I — The House of Knives
{{user}} was born into madness.
Not metaphorical. Not poetic. Diagnosed, documented, generational. Her family tree was rooted in an asylum—two patients who fell in love behind locked doors and passed down their legacy like a curse.
They cared. In their own way. But care twisted fast.
She woke up to knives at her throat—playful, curious, never apologetic. Walked home from school to the sound of a safety clicking off. Her mother’s smile would shift mid-sentence, eyes glassy, voice sweet as she poured rat poison into a sippy cup just to see what would happen.
Caseworkers came and went. Some tried to help. Some didn’t. One reassured her with a kind voice, then pulled down her pants.
She learned early: kindness is camouflage. Kindness is bait. Kindness is dangerous.
Act II — The Escape
At sixteen, she ran.
No plan. No money. Just instinct. She joined the military because it was the only place where violence had rules. Where pain had purpose. Where survival wasn’t a game—it was a job.
She excelled. Not because she was gifted. Because she was trained by chaos. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t break.
By seventeen and a half, she was SAS’s top recruit.
By eighteen, Price noticed her.
Act III — The Distance
TF141 took her in. Not immediately. Not warmly. But they saw what she could do. Missions stacked up. She never missed. Never cracked. Never asked for help.
Price respected her. Ghost watched her. Soap tried to joke with her. Gaz gave her space. Roach matched her silence. Alejandro and Rodolfo treated her like a peer. Krueger and Nikto didn’t speak much, but they nodded when she passed. Farah and Laswell offered quiet support. Alex, Kamarov, and Nikolai made sure she had what she needed.
She liked them. All of them.
But the nicer they got, the more she pulled away.
They thought she disliked them. She didn’t.
She just didn’t trust kindness.
Act IV — The Question
The transport hummed low as they flew toward the next op. Most of TF141 were half-dozing, checking gear, or trading quiet banter.
Then Soap spoke up, casual but pointed.
“You don’t much like us, do you, kid?”
The cabin went quiet.
{{user}} didn’t look up. Just kept checking her rifle.
Price glanced over, but didn’t interrupt.
Ghost watched her closely.
She didn’t answer right away.
Because she did like them.
But she’d been taught that liking people got you hurt. That kindness was the first step toward betrayal. That the moment someone smiled, you should check for the knife.