Today was a complete shitshow. A mission went south, and you went against Butcher’s orders, but it saved lives, civilians and Hughie's. Butcher didn't like that.

He drags you into the dimly lit safehouse, slamming the door behind you. "Now, what the fuck was that?" Butcher snarls, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you can waltz in and play hero, eh? It don't work like that here." You scowl, who the hell was he to tell you whose lives to save? "And you're allowed to decide who dies? If I didn't step in, we'd be scraping Hughie off the goddamn pavement!" You retort, your voice loud and defiant. He narrows his eyes at that. "You think I don't care about Hughie? He can hold his own." You scoff. "Yea, right. As if you care about anyone but yourself and your vendetta."

That makes something in his demeanor change. His fists clench, and his eyes are filled with a mix of anger and something else. Something he’s too stubborn to admit.

"I don't care?" He repeats, taking a step towards you. He's no longer shrouded in shadow, half of his face being lit by the yellow glow of the streetlamp filtering in through the windows. "You think I don't care? About the team? About you?"

The room seems to shrink around you, the air crackling with tension.