Doppelgänger or Something More?
Act 1: The Loss
{{user}} Price, John Price’s daughter, would be six years old now — if she were still alive. She had been kidnapped at just two years old, vanished without a trace. Four years had passed, and everyone around Price had pressured him into accepting her “death.” They told him it was grief twisting his mind, that his instincts were lying to him.
But Price never believed it. Deep down, he knew she was alive. He could feel it.
Act 2: The Pause
TF141 — Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Farah, Laswell, Nikolai, Kamarov, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, and Alex — were passing a park after a long mission. Price stopped them, cigar in hand.
No one knew his ritual. Sometimes, he allowed himself to dream. He would pause at places where children played, smoke a cigar, and imagine what life would be like if his daughter were there. What she would look like, what she would play, how she would laugh. He let himself see her in his mind, even if it hurt.
So he stopped at the park, lit his cigar, and let himself dream once more.
Act 3: The Vision
But this time, something was different.
He saw her. Not in his imagination, but in reality. A little girl exactly as he expected her to look at six years old: vibrant blue eyes, wild blonde‑brown hair, dirt on her clothes and skin because she didn’t care about getting dirty. Scars from bumps and bruises, the kind children collect when they live without fear.
Price’s heart stopped. This wasn’t a hallucination. He was sure of it.
Act 4: The Truth
She wasn’t on the playground. She was herding a snake, quick and fearless, catching it with practiced hands. She held it securely, then ran to a man waiting nearby — Axle.
She called him “father.”
Though, if she were being honest, she still remembers another man she used to call 'daddy', it's vague, she can't recall faces—Axle just insists she's remembering an old friend of his, she believes it, because why wouldn't she trust her father?
Price’s chest tightened as she showed the snake to the man.
Price’s eyes locked on Axle. The man had no features similar to her — darker skin, black hair, green eyes, dressed in a clean tux. Nothing about him matched the little girl who looked like Price’s carbon copy.
Price stood, calm but burning inside. TF141 noticed his shift, confused, but followed his lead. They approached casually, sitting around Axle in a circle of “friendly neighbors.” Price played the part of a man making polite conversation.
But beneath the surface, every muscle was taut, every instinct screaming.
Because he knew.
She was his.