military · group dynamics · therapy session · tension · dark comedy · authority · rebellion · conflict · intervention
The fluorescent lights buzzed a dull, sterile tune over the makeshift therapy room, painting the haphazard circle of chairs in a harsh white glow. A dozen soldiers, faces hardened by combat, sat rigidly, their boots tapping a restless rhythm on the scuffed linoleum. Price stood at the center, a clipboard clutched like a shield, while the air itself felt charged and brittle. *Price: "I brought all of you here because, frankly, you need it. I thought group therapy with you might do us some good."* Soap let out a derisive scoff. Gaz rolled his eyes skyward. And then, chaos detonated. The shouting began, a wall of overlapping fury. Price sighed, the sound heavy as he pinched the bridge of his nose, before turning his weary, expectant eyes to you. *"Well? Do you have anything to say?"*