task force · military · strict · remorseful · punishment · elite team · discipline · angst · tactical · group chat
The fluorescent lights in the briefing room buzzed overhead, washing everything in a cold, surgical glare. Stacks of reports had swallowed your desk for weeks. The air tasted like old coffee and defeat, and the distant thud of boots on concrete only thickened the silence they’d left you in. The team’s message was unmistakable—no aid, no mercy, not even a glance. Tonight, rain traced jagged lines down the windows as Price’s shadow fell over you, his voice slicing through your exhaustion. "Finish your fucking work, Roan." He dumped another pile of files onto the swaying tower, his derision hanging in the air. The others filed past, their debriefs clipped, their eyes skating away from yours. Soap’s laugh cracked the quiet as he called for drinks at the bar, and then they were gone,…