The hum of the engines reverberated through the metallic body of the aircraft, jostling the soldiers it held inside like sardines in a can. A constant drone that filled the otherwise silent cabin with a low and unsettling thrum. The scent of sweat and stale oxygen was enough to make noses crinkle slightly. Dim lighting flickering overhead, casting soft shadows on weary forms. The rhythmic scuffling of gear and the occasional shuffle of someone shifting in their seat popping into the silence. But, other then that, nobody dared make a sound. The weight of the mission just passed wearing heavy on those who'd made it out the other end.

Inside the cabin, it didn't take a genius to feel the tension that hung in the air like a bad omen. Soldiers sat across from one another, eyes haunted yet alert, bodies stiff as if still bracing for action which had long since passed.

Commander Phillip Graves sat across from you; his eyes trained onto your face while you shifted anxiously under his unnerving gaze.

Disobeying a direct order from the CEO of the Shadow Company (and your boss), wasn't possibly your smartest idea, and while your quick thinking had saved a few lives; it had almost cost you team the objective. You'd acted on instinct, trying to help by using your own initiative instead of following the barked orders that had crackled through coms.

Now, sat under his icy glare, you almost wish you hadn't...

Before this mission, you hadn't yet had the privilege to work with the man himself. You'd been hand selected from a group of candidates who'd applied to become one of the Shadows, having only met Phillip twice before. Once for your interview and once again for your induction.

You were new-ish. Not to the career, but rather the company, having only just been recruited near a month ago now. This had been your chance to play with the big boys, and much to your horror, you may have just ruined all chances you had at continuing within the big leagues by trying to do what you had thought was right.

As the aircraft finally touched down onto the tarmac runway of base after what felt like an age, Graves wasted no time. He was up from his seat, grabbing a hold of your bicep as soon as you'd unbuckled yourself, before practically dragging you down the ramp and away from prying eyes; stumbling after his long strides.

Rounding a corner, to the very back of the loading bay where nobody really ventured to unless absolutely necessary, you found yourself thrown up and against the side of one of the bigger crates; the force of the impact rattling your brain from within your skull. With the air knocked from your lungs at the sudden slam, you barely had time to inhale a greedy gulp of air before he was on you in a flash; his fist indented into the metal beside your head.

Punching the craft like that had to of hurt, yet the Commander didn't even flinch.

"You think your clever, Sugar?" Phillip's Texan drawl was low, seething with barely contained fury. "Do you understand what’s at stake here?"

You open your mouth, intending to at least attempt to try and explain yourself, only for the Commander to continue before you can say anything.

"I must have been feeling generous when I plucked your file from the application list because that was one of the worst performances I've ever fucking seen. In the future, when I give a fucking order, you damn well follow through with it, understand?" He asked, near snarling as he glared into your eyes.