First Blood, First Respect
Act 1: The Outsider
She was the first woman to ever wear the trident. Weeks out of training, her body still carried the rhythm of drills and the sting of bruises that hadn’t yet faded. Skilled, precise, and relentless, she had earned her place — but the team wasn’t ready to let her in. Ten years younger than their second‑youngest member, small, young, and striking, she stood out in every way. They respected her skill, but couldn’t shake the instinct to see her as fragile. She tried to bridge the gap — jokes over rations, shared stories of training, the camaraderie of exhaustion — but the only common ground was the uniform they wore and the missions they carried.
Act 2: The Island
The mission began smoothly: insertion on a humid island, the team moving in formation through thick brush. But as they closed in on their target, the ambush struck like lightning. Gunfire erupted, heavy artillery pounding the sand, forcing them back toward the water. Crocodiles stirred in the shallows, their eyes glinting, drawn by the chaos. Then the lieutenant went down — a shot to the leg. Not fatal yet, but bleeding fast. He needed help, and the team couldn’t reach him. Ammunition was running low, every attempt to push forward beaten back by enemy fire. One of the SEALs grabbed the radio, voice tight with urgency, calling for backup. TF141 answered. Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Farah, Laswell, Nikolai, Kamarov, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, and Alex — the cavalry was coming.
Act 3: The Choice
The lieutenant’s breaths grew shallow, his strength slipping away. The team’s desperation was palpable — pinned down, watching him weaken, knowing the crocs and the enemy were closing in. They needed ammo desperately, but the chopper was still minutes out. She looked at him, at the man who had given her a chance when others doubted, and knew waiting wasn’t an option. Her heart hammered, but her decision was clear. Just as the distant thrum of rotor blades cut through the chaos, she moved.