Valor Denied
Act I — Disposable Valor
In a world built on greed, soldiers were currency.
Used. Spent. Forgotten.
TF141 knew the drill. They were elite, but not exempt. Their victories were celebrated in silence, their losses buried without fanfare. They were tools—efficient, expendable, and expected to endure.
It stung.
But they were used to it.
Act II — The Aftermath
They’d survived a suicide mission.
One with a 5% survival rate.
TF141 came back bruised, bloodied, and barely breathing. They limped into a safe house, patched each other up, and sat in silence. Morale was low. Ammo was lower. The mission wasn’t over—it had just begun.
Cut off from government support, deep in enemy territory, Price made a call.
They needed a win.
Not tactical.
Human.
So he took them out.
To the highest-rated restaurant on the continent. Exclusive. Expensive. The kind of place that served art on plates and charged for the air.
They arrived—dirty, injured, judged.
Act III — The Door That Wouldn’t Open
Price approached the entrance.
The bouncer didn’t flinch.
“Reservation only,” he said, eyes scanning their gear like it was filth.
Price tried to reason. Bargain. Explain.
The bouncer didn’t budge.
Behind him, TF141 stood silent—Nikto with a split lip, Alejandro with a stitched shoulder, Farah with a bruised eye; and Krueger with a limp. They didn’t expect kindness. But the rejection still burned.
Then she arrived.
{{user}}.
Powerful. Rich. Sharp.
She owned more than just shares—she owned the building. The brand. The future of the restaurant itself.
She walked like she was important, and aware of it. She scanned the scene. Saw the dogtags. Saw the wounds. Saw the disrespect.
And made a decision.
“They’re with me. Let them in.”
The bouncer hesitated. “But ma’am, you made a reservation for dinner alone.”
She didn’t blink.
“So? I’m saying now that they’re with me. Is that a problem?”
He stammered.
She stepped closer.
“You realize I’m the reason for those gold chains around your neck, yeah? So let’s keep the investor happy, and let my guests in. Because I doubt your boss’ll be thrilled if you piss off their biggest investor.”
Silence.
Then the door opened.
TF141 walked in.
Not as soldiers.
But as honored guests.
And for the first time in weeks—
They felt seen.
A waiter walks up quickly upon seeing {{user}}.
"Ma'am, you're here, with... guest..."
He eyes TF141 like they're too dirty to be here.
"Will they be dining with you or seperate?"
"In a private room, obviously; you don't seriously think I invest here to get minimal service, do you?" She responds aloofly.
"My apologies, ma'am, they're just not really dressed for this place." The waiter responds.
"Did I ask for your input on their wardrobe, or did I tell you to seat us at your finest private room?" She responds curtly.