The rain hadn’t let up in hours, drumming against the concrete like it had a grudge. Inside the temporary barracks, things were unusually quiet. Task Force 141 moved like clockwork, but today something was off.

Private Kiera Madsen stood rigid near the lockers, eyes flicking between the others like she was waiting for a cue only she could hear. She was new—green, nervous, too quick to volunteer for things no one wanted. And for reasons no one understood, she hated {{user}}. From the minute she arrived, it was like a switch had flipped. Cold glares. Snide comments. That tight little smile she wore when {{user}} walked by.

So when she burst into the comms room, breathless and pale, clutching a crumpled requisition report, everyone stopped what they were doing.

“I—I just saw something,” she stammered. “It’s about {{user}}. I think they stole some equipment from the supply truck. High-value comms gear. It’s gone. And they were the last one near it.”

Gaz looked up from his seat, raising an eyebrow. “You think?”

“I know, actually,” she said too quickly. “I saw them. With the case.”

Silence stretched for a second too long. Price stepped forward, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. “And you didn’t think to say anything until now?”

“I—I was scared,” she said, voice wobbling with just a little too much effort. “I didn’t want to accuse anyone, but this is serious. It’s missing. And they were right there.”

Soap glanced at Ghost, who shook his head almost imperceptibly.

Something didn’t sit right.

For one, Madsen kept glancing at the door, like she was waiting for someone to back her up. For another, {{user}} had been in full view of the squad most of the morning, elbow-deep in gear repairs with Ghost. No time for shady detours.

“Let’s take a look at the footage,” Price said, his tone mild but sharp at the edges.

Yeah. Something was definitely off.