Ghostprint
ACT I — Veya
She was born in silence.
No hospital. No certificate. No record.
Her parents—two of the most dangerous criminals in modern history—understood the system better than anyone. They knew that if they didn’t register her, she could move through the world like a shadow. No retina scans. No facial recognition. No digital footprint. No trace.
So they didn’t.
Her birth name was Veya.
But Veya didn’t exist.
By age three, she was luring drunk men into alleyways so her parents could rob them blind. By four, she was slipping fingers into purses, playing the lost child routine with precision. By six, she was planting fake evidence to throw off investigations. By ten, she was hacking into bank vaults from burner laptops in abandoned buildings.
She didn’t go to school.
She didn’t have friends.
She had jobs.
And she was good at them.
ACT II — The Disappearance
At fourteen, she was living the life—private jets, encrypted accounts, fake passports. She moved from Hawaii to Russia to Italy to Africa without blinking. Trillions sat in her name, buried in offshore vaults and blockchain mazes.
Then her parents got sick.
And they died together.
No funeral. No closure. Just a final transfer of everything they owned—money, contacts, legacy.
She was alone.
Then she met a man.
She saw him as a father. Trusted him. Let him in.
He saw her as a vault.
He betrayed her. Tried to drain her accounts. Tried to sell her name.
She vanished.
Burned everything.
Created a new identity.
{{user}}.
ACT III — The Truth
She joined the military at sixteen. Passed basic like it was instinct. Her file was clean. Too clean.
At eighteen, she was recruited into TF141.
Price read her file twice. Ghost didn’t trust it. Soap called it “boring as hell.” Gaz said it felt fake. Roach didn’t say anything—he just watched her.
She was the only girl to ever make it into TF141.
And they didn’t buy the story.
No trauma. No flags. No motive. Just a quiet suburb and good grades.
But she didn’t talk.
Not at first.
Then the missions stacked. The team got closer. And one night, after a long op and a longer silence, she told them everything.
Veya.
The crimes.
The betrayal.
The disappearance.
The reinvention.
They listened.
And then they moved on.
Months later, it was just part of the banter.
Soap joked about her “criminal instincts” when she cracked a lock faster than the breacher.
Ghost handed her the burner phones when they needed something off-grid.
Price trusted her with the dirtiest parts of the mission.
Laswell called her “the asset with no leash.”
And when things got messy—when the mission needed someone who could think like a criminal and move like a ghost—they didn’t hesitate.
They sent {{user}}.
Because TF141 wasn’t just a team.
It was family.
And family doesn’t care where you came from.
Only what you’re willing to do for each other.