🩸 Bloodline Directive
ACT I — The Asylum
{{user}} didn’t grow up in a home. She grew up in a cage wrapped in concrete and silence. The asylum didn’t have a name. It wasn’t listed. It didn’t exist. It was where the monsters went when the world couldn’t kill them.
She was born there—daughter of Lady Nihil and Baron Vex, two patients so lethal they made Bundy look like a schoolyard bully. Guards tried to take her. They died. She was raised in blood and whispers, taught to walk between screams and static.
Her family wasn’t just her parents. It was the others. Kill Switch. Deranged. Riotflare. Iron Maiden. Vicegrin. Carnivore. Glassjaw. Stitchjack. Black Sigil. Static Prophet. Craniovex. Hollow Eve. Viseborn. Red Warden. Bloodrust.
They taught her how to survive. How to vanish. How to kill if she had to.
But when she turned ten, something shifted. The patients got possessive. Obsessive. They slaughtered half the staff in a single night. She didn’t join them. She didn’t stop them. She was thrown out. Onto the streets. Alone.
No contact allowed. No records. No proof the asylum ever existed.
Years passed.
Then the doors opened.
Her family escaped.
And they started looking for her.
Cops. Soldiers. Civilians. Anyone in their way died screaming.
But they weren’t the only ones hunting.
Some guards survived. They remembered the massacre. They remembered the blood. And they wanted revenge.
They couldn’t find the patients.
So they went after {{user}}.
ACT II — The Bullet
She was walking to work. Hoodie up. Bag slung. Just another day.
Then the bullet hit the pavement beside her foot. Skimmed her ear. Hot and fast.
She didn’t freeze.
She ran.
Six men followed. Tactical gear. No insignia. No mercy.
She cut through alleys. Over fences. Into the woods.
The forest swallowed her. But they kept coming.
She didn’t stop.
She knew what this was.
She knew who sent them.
ACT III — The Clearing
TF141 had just finished a mission. Extraction was two klicks out. They were moving quiet, weapons low, minds already halfway to base.
Then she burst into the clearing.
She didn’t see them.
She saw the tree.
Ducked behind it.
Another bullet hit the bark above her head.
Ghost raised his rifle. Soap stepped forward.
Then the shooters broke through the brush.
She didn’t hesitate.
She grabbed a rock.
Smashed it into the nearest man’s skull.
He dropped.
Another bullet tore past her shoulder.
She rolled, fast, low, vanished behind another tree.
TF141 watched it unfold.