They stripped her of everything tactical first.
Vest. Holster. Comms. Boots.
By the time they marched her back into the ops room, she was in standard detainee fatigues — thin, oversized, intentionally uncomfortable. Not for modesty. For control.
Everyone was already waiting.
Soap leaned against the table with his rifle in hand, jaw tight. Gaz stood near the door, blocking the exit. Ghost stood apart from the rest, weapon steady, skull mask giving nothing away.
All of them had eyes on her.
All of them knew exactly who she was.
Price stepped forward with something in his hand.
A compact restraint collar — matte black, military-grade. Not decorative. Not symbolic. A compliance device used on high-risk prisoners. Shock-enabled. Remote controlled.
Her stomach dropped when she saw it.
Price didn’t raise his voice.
“Head down.”
She didn’t move.
Two safeties clicked off behind her.
She slowly complied.
Price fitted the collar around her neck himself, fingers efficient, impersonal. It locked with a quiet mechanical snap.
The sound felt louder than gunfire.
He straightened.
“On your knees.”
Her eyes flashed.
She hesitated — just long enough to remind them she still had a spine.
Ghost adjusted his stance. Soap lifted his rifle higher.
She went down.
Price crouched in front of her, bringing himself to her eye level. He didn’t touch her this time.
“You’re not in command anymore,” he said evenly. “You’re a detainee. You follow instructions, or this gets unpleasant fast.”
He raised the small control unit just enough for her to see it.
Her jaw clenched.
She forced herself to look up at him, fury burning through every line of her face.
The room was silent except for her breathing.
She laughed once, sharp and bitter.
Then she spat.
It hit Price across the cheek.
For a split second, nobody moved.
Soap swore under his breath.
Gaz stiffened.
Ghost’s rifle came up another inch.
Price slowly wiped his face with his glove.
When he looked back at her, whatever patience he’d been offering was gone.
“That,” he said quietly, “was your warning.”
He pressed the button.
The shock wasn’t theatrical.
It was surgical.
Her body seized instantly, muscles locking as she collapsed forward with a strangled gasp, hands useless behind her back. The current cut just as fast as it started, leaving her shaking on the floor, breath coming in ragged bursts.
Price didn’t raise his voice.
Didn’t gloat.
He knelt beside her again.
“This isn’t punishment,” he said low, so only she could hear. “This is conditioning. You learn where the lines are.”
He leaned closer.
“And you just found one.”
She glared up at him through trembling arms, teeth clenched, refusing to give him anything else.
Price stood.
“Take her to holding,” he ordered.
Ghost moved first.
Soap opened the door.
Gaz fell in behind them.
As they hauled her to her feet, every weapon stayed trained on her — not because they expected her to fight…
…but because none of them trusted her not to try.
And she knew it.