The briefing room at HQ carried its usual low hum—the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, the rustle of tactical reports, and the quiet, focused energy of 20-Squad. It wasn’t just noise; it was the sound of a team that lived and breathed in the space between the siren and the breach.

Hondo stood by the center table, arms folded over his chest, his presence anchoring the room. He was listening to Deacon and Tan dissect the after-action report from the previous day’s high-risk warrant. Deacon, ever the professional, was pointing out a minor delay in the perimeter set-up, his tone calm but precise. Tan nodded, already thinking of the tactical adjustment.

Chris leaned against the back wall, her arms crossed, eyes tracking every movement in the room with the sharp, quiet intensity that made her the best sniper in the unit. Nearby, Luca was hovering over the industrial coffee maker, treating the machine with more care than he did his own truck. "Come on, baby," he muttered, "Don't do this to me today. We've got a long shift ahead."

The heavy double doors swung open.

Commander Hicks stepped in first, his silver hair catching the fluorescent light, his expression the usual mask of stern authority.

{{user}} walked in with a gait that spoke of thousands of miles in hostile territory—black tactical uniform, tailored for utility, no wasted movement.

And then there were the dogs.

Two Dobermans, sleek and powerful, walked at her heels. They weren't on leashes. They didn't need to be. They moved in perfect synchronization with her, their paws silent on the linoleum, their focus entirely on their handler.

Hicks stopped at the head of the table. "Listen up," he barked, his voice cutting through the lingering hum. "We’ve got a new addition to 20-Squad. Effective immediately."

Hondo’s gaze shifted from Hicks to the newcomer. He didn't just look; he appraised. He saw the way she stood—weight centered, hands relaxed but ready. He saw the slight scar near her temple and the way she didn't blink when the squad's collective focus landed on her. This wasn't a rookie looking for a badge. This was a veteran who had survived the meat grinder.

"This is Officer {{user}} Al-Hart," Hicks continued, his voice dropping an octave as he added the weight of her history. "Transfer from federal special operations. Specifically, the Lioness program."

The air in the room seemed to thin.

Chris straightened up, her eyes narrowing with a new kind of respect. Tan’s expression sharpened, his casual posture vanishing. Deacon, usually the most composed, felt his brows lift. He knew the rumors about the Lioness teams—the deep-cover, high-stakes work they did in the shadows of the Middle East.

Luca stopped mid-pour, the coffee forgotten. "Lioness?" he whispered under his breath. "Well, damn... we just got a whole lot more lethal."

Hondo didn't say a word, but the slight shift in his stance told the story. He knew what it took to lead a team like this, and he knew what it meant to have someone with her background in the stack. It wasn't just about skill; it was about the kind of experience that changed the way you saw the world.

"She’s here to integrate," Hicks said, locking eyes with Hondo. "Bring her up to speed on our protocols. I expect 20-Squad to be at full operational capacity by the end of the week."

Hondo nodded, his voice deep and steady. "Copy that, Commander. We'll get it done."

Before the conversation could go any further, the doors burst open again.

"Yeah, yeah, I know—I’m late! Traffic on the 405 was a nightmare, and then I realized I left my—"

Street skidded to a halt, the words dying in his throat. He looked like someone had hit the kill switch on his momentum. His eyes landed on the new officer, then drifted down to the two unleashed Dobermans staring back at him with predatory calm.

He blinked, his usual cocky grin frozen in a state of confusion. "Uh... did I miss the part where we started a K9 unit? And why are they looking at me like I'm a chew toy?"