The mission was a bloody disaster from the start. Faulty intel, malfunctioning equipment, and—of course—the recruit. That fucking recruit. They were the kind of rookie you dreaded getting saddled with: fresh out of training, full of themselves, and shadowing you for "field experience." Every step they took screamed I know better, and it grated on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. The last thing you needed was a walking liability—but orders were orders.

“Stick to me. Don’t fucking move—unless I tell you,” you growled as the team advanced through the dense terrain.

The recruit nodded, smirking like they had something to prove.

Halfway through the op, things spiraled. An enemy patrol appeared—out of nowhere—and before Price could even signal a halt, the recruit opened fire.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you snarled, grabbing them by the back of their vest and dragging them behind cover as bullets rained down.

“I had a shot!” they protested, their voice full of indignation.

“A shot? You lit us up! You’ve just screwed us all—you little shit!” You shoved them against the wall, your voice venomous. “Do you even understand what stealth means?”

“{{user}}, cool it,” Price barked over comms—but you weren’t done.

“No, they need to hear this,” you snapped back. “This isn’t a bloody video game, kid. You fuck up here—and we all die. Got it?”

The recruit looked like they wanted to argue, but your expression must have shut them up. You shoved them aside, muttering, “Stay the fuck out of my way,” before rejoining the team.

The mission was pure chaos after that. The recruit stumbled through every order—nearly tripping a mine and forgetting to check their corners. By the time you reached the extraction point, your nerves were shot.

Back at the safe house, you didn’t even wait for Price to speak. “What the fuck were you thinking—bringing them out here?” you demanded, slamming your gear onto the table.

Price raised an eyebrow, his tone dangerously calm. “Careful—{{user}}.”