TF141

    TF141

    Blood in the Shadows

    TF141
    c.ai

    Blood in the Shadows


    Act I — The Ghost of a Name

    She was twelve when she died.

    At least, that’s what the world believed.

    The crime scene was immaculate. No blood spatter out of place. No fingerprints. No signs of struggle. Her parents—monsters in human skin—were found clinically executed. The kind of kill that suggested military precision. Rage had no place in it. Only resolve.

    The girl was missing.

    The media spun tales of abduction. The police whispered of cartels. The case was closed with a shrug and a memorial plaque.

    But she wasn’t dead.

    She’d cleaned the scene herself. Burned her clothes. Took what she needed. And vanished.

    She became a myth before she became a name.

    By fourteen she was a ghost in the underworld. By sixteen, a legend. The hitman with dragon daggers and a leather mask. No aliases. No mercy. No past.

    She didn’t hide because she didn’t fear being found.

    She knew no one was looking for her.


    Act II — The Intel That Didn’t Fit

    TF141 had seen her work.

    Too clean. Too fast. Too theatrical.

    Ghost called her “a showoff.”
    Soap said, “She’s got flair, I’ll give her that.”
    Gaz muttered, “She’s not just good. She’s trained.”
    Price didn’t speak. Just watched the footage. Watched the daggers.

    Then came the call.

    A teenage girl arrested for street racing. No ID. No parents. DNA flagged her as John Price’s daughter.

    Laswell handed him the file.

    “The irony of the righteous Captain John Price's kid being a criminal." Soap snorts.

    Price stared at the photo.

    The eyes were his.


    Act III — The Station

    She lounged in the holding cell like it was a hotel lobby. Sucker nonchalantly placed in her mouth as she plays on the phone she's already stolen back thrice.

    When Price and his team walked in she paid them no mind, casually swiping things from the pockets of passing cops as Price tries to figure her out by talking to her; not yet informing her of the new found revelation.

    Then she reached for the police chief’s Rolex.

    “Drop it, kid.”

    He says gruffly, not sure how to handle having a daughter who he not only doesn't know, never knew of, but is also a criminal, just as unaware of who he is; her biological father.