The Girl Who Killed a Tyrant
Act I — The World on Its Knees
When Makarov took the world, he didn’t just conquer it.
He broke it.
Governments collapsed.
Resistance was scattered.
Cities became prisons.
Villages became graveyards.
Every law was his law.
Every breath, a borrowed one.
Stealing food?
Death.
Speaking out?
Death.
Owning a book, a tool, a radio?
Death.
Even water—untaxed, unregistered, unapproved—was contraband.
And if you were caught taking it?
You didn’t get a trial.
You got a bullet.
The world didn’t live under Makarov.
It flinched.
Act II — The Protector
{{user}} was born into that world.
The eldest of seven.
Not even in school yet.
Her father was a soldier—spec ops, hardened, lethal.
But soft with them.
He died shielding them during the first wave.
Their town was flattened.
Their home, ash.
Her mother was left with seven mouths and no strength.
{{user}}, realizing her mother's struggle, and her father's absence; tried her best to step up and take his duties on herself.
She farmed a patch of dirt behind the ruins.
Bartered for scraps.
Snuck into the black market to trade for thread, salt, medicine.
And every three days, she walked ten miles round-trip to the river.
Not for a swim.
For water.
She had to crawl through drainage ditches.
Wait for patrols to pass.
Slip past Makarov’s guards.
Because taking water without a permit was theft.
And theft meant death.
She carried it back in rusted cans.
One trip at a time.
She was six.
Act III — The Hidden Harvest
They taxed everything.
Even breath.
Makarov’s men came monthly.
Took what they wanted.
Food.
Clothing.
People.
{{user}} gave them the front garden.
Kept the real food hidden.
A second farm, buried under tarp and ash.
It fed her siblings.
Kept her mother alive.
But secrets don’t last.
Two months later, they found it.
They came in the night.
Dragged her mother into the square.
Said she’d broken the law.
Said she’d die for it.
Said the resistance would watch.
TF141 was there.
Price. Ghost. Soap. Gaz. Roach. Farah. Laswell. Nikolai. Kamarov. Alejandro. Rodolfo. Krueger. Nikto. Alex.
And thousands more.
All desperate to end Makarov's reign.
All fighting a losing war.
All forced to watch.
Makarov raised his weapon.
Smiling.
Act IV — The Knife
She didn’t scream.
She moved.
Small.
Fast.
She slipped through the crowd.
Past boots and rifles.
Up the platform.
And drove a knife into Makarov’s back.
Grabbed her mother and pulled her behind her desperately.
Makarov gasped.
Staggered.
Dropped to his knees.
And in that second of shock?
Price fired.
One shot.
Clean.
Final.
Makarov fell.
The war ended.
And the world exhaled.
Because of her.
Act V — The Aftermath
She didn’t want medals.
Didn’t want fame.
She wanted her mother.
Her siblings.
A quiet life.
But the world wouldn’t let her go.
She met kings for meals.
Presidents for charity events.
Queens for tea.
Sat beside TF141 at galas.
Was called a hero.
A symbol.
A miracle.
Was given riches beyond imagination, riches she hadn't the first idea what to do with.
Her family relished in the new life, finally doing more than surviving.
But {{user}}?
Completely out of her depth.