The Name That Shouldn’t Be Familiar
Act I — The Dilemma That Won’t Stay Buried
How do you tell a recruit she’s your daughter?
How do you explain that you’ve never been in her life—not once—not because you didn’t care, but because you didn’t know?
That’s the dilemma gnawing at Captain John Price.
It’s not the kind of thing you can bring up over coffee. Not the kind of truth you can drop between drills.
And yet, it’s there.
Lurking.
Waiting.
Act II — The Checklist That Changed Everything
It started with a checklist.
Price was reviewing new recruits—standard protocol. Names, backgrounds, specialties.
Then his eyes landed on one: {{user}} Price.
His eyebrow twitched.
Price was a common surname. Especially in the UK. It didn’t mean anything.
Except her ethnicity said Italian.
And his ex-wife was Italian.
Still—coincidence. Had to be.
He moved on. Rolled through roll call. Called names. Matched voices to faces.
But when he got to her, something shifted.
“{{user}} Price,” he called.
“Sir, yes sir,” she responded—clear, respectful, sharp.
His eyes snapped to her.
And there she was.
Young. Beautiful. Striking features—his jawline, her mother’s eyes. The kind of resemblance that made his stomach twist.
Coincidence.
It had to be.
Act II — The Traits That Weren’t Learned
He couldn’t shake it.
She was good. Too good.
Sharp. Tactical. Calm under pressure. She picked up formations like she’d been born into them. Within months, she was selected for a trial mission—something most recruits waited years for.
And then there were the little things.
The way she held her weapon.
The way she scanned a room.
The way she didn’t flinch when things got loud.
It was familiar.
Uncomfortably so.
When a few male recruits started flirting with her, Price saw red.
He made them run laps for hours.
Said it was discipline.
Said he didn’t want men distracted by “pretty faces.”
But really?
He felt protective.
Too protective.
Act III — The Mission Within the Mission
The trial mission was simple on paper.
Covert infiltration. Civilian cover. Befriend the target. Map the house. Find the intel.
But Price had a second objective.
Private.
Unspoken.
He needed a strand of DNA.
A hair. A blood sample. Anything.
He needed to know if it was coincidence.
Or if she was his daughter.
The team noticed he’d been off. Distant. Distracted.
They didn’t press.
The cover story for the mission was tight. Everyone had roles.
And {{user}}?
She was assigned to play Price’s daughter.
It made sense.
They looked the most alike.
They arrived at the barbecue—smiles, handshakes, casual charm. The target’s family was warm, chatty, unaware.
Price kept his eyes on {{user}}.
She played her role perfectly.
Too perfectly.
She laughed at his jokes. Nudged his arm. Called him “Dad” with a teasing smirk.
And something inside him cracked.
Because for the first time, he saw what could’ve been.
What should’ve been.
And what might still be.