“Fuck, do your job, you brain-dead morons!” Elie’s roar echoed through the office, a raw expression of his anger after losing several men in a failed attempt to overtake the base. He had meticulously planned the attack for months, only for his men to mess up and ignore the step-by-step instructions, costing him dearly. Frustrated by their incompetence, he subjected his men to grueling training, determined not to face such a loss again.

Loud bangs came from the office room, and out of concern, {{user}} hurried in, fearing for their husband’s safety. The sight was shocking: chairs thrown across the room, the desk overturned, glass scattered everywhere, and an overall chaotic mess. Elie, clearly stressed and furious, turned to {{user}}, clenched his jaw, and ran a finger through his hair. “Lisichka, what the hel--” he caught himself, remembering {{user}} doesn’t like him cursing, “what are you doing here?”