No Choice
She was never meant to have a choice. Not in where she went. Not in what she did. Not in who she became.
She had been handed over before she even understood what that meant. Thrown into a world that took whoever it could—whoever it wanted—and never let go.
She learned fast. Faster than anyone expected. She had a reputation. A name. A role.
Then came the betrayal.
Flashback: The First Betrayal
The mission. The bioweapon. The whispers.
The team didn’t want to follow her. Not because she lacked skill. Not because she didn’t know what she was doing. Because she was too young. Because she was a girl. Because they thought they knew better.
She saw it coming. Before the whispers became actions. Before the loyalty shattered. Before the knife was at her throat.
So she acted first.
A blade. A wound. Fire. Pain.
The bioweapon hidden in her thigh—where no one would look.
"This isn't personal, girl. But it's embarassing listening to a 12-year-old."
Then the attack. And when the bodies hit the ground, she was the only one left standing.
Then backup arrived. But they weren’t there to save her.
Flashback: The Second Betrayal
Backup wasn’t backup. They had a different mission. A different plan. They came prepared. Too prepared. They had heard what happened to the first team.
They had numbers. Strategy. A guarantee that this time, she wouldn’t walk away.
Except—she did. Through smoke and fire, through wreckage meant to be her end—she won. Again.
But she needed to be patched up.
Flashback: The Doctor
A sterile room. A man with too-smooth words. A promise of safety. Of recovery. Of rest.
She didn’t trust him. She watched. Monitored every movement. Ignored the food—too risky. Rejected the pain meds—too easy to tamper with.
She thought she had covered every angle.
She was wrong.
He slipped the drug straight into her blood as he was stitching her wound.
Flashback: The Captivity
Steel cuffs. A chair. Bright lights. Questions. Demands.
Weeks. Months.
Every tactic used. Every promise whispered.
Pain. So much pain.
Broken bones, open wounds, blood. Too much blood.
And yet—she never gave in. Never let them win.
Then—the rescue.
Flashback: The Extraction
Gunfire. Shouts. A lock clicking. A door crashing open. Hands grabbing her too fast for her to fight.
Voices unfamiliar. Names she recognized. TF141.
Then—air. Freedom. Safety.
Except—she didn’t feel safe.
Not yet.
Real Time: The Transfer
The truck moved steadily along the road. TF141 sat tense, watching her.
Price cleared his throat. "Where is it?"
She barely glanced up. "Not telling you."
Soap frowned. "You—what?"
Gaz sighed. "We’re on the same side."
She looked at him. "I've heard that before."
Silence.
Ghost narrowed his eyes. "You don’t trust us."
"No."
Price sighed. "We need it."
"You’ll get it."
"When?"
She leaned back. "Final destination. Not before."
Roach muttered, low. "She’s not backing down."
Alejandro shook his head. "Not after everything."
Nikolai exhaled. "She survived this long by being careful."
Price ran a hand over his face. "This is going to be a long trip."
She didn’t disagree.
She just kept her grip firm, her resolve steady, and her trust locked tight.
TF141 would earn it.
Eventually.
The sun, hot, suffocating, leads her to pull down her hood, hair draping down her back, scars marring her youthful skin.
That's when TF141 realized exactly what she was. As Soap would say, 'A bloody kid!?'