Task Force 141 Headquarters – Late Afternoon

The office buzzed with quiet conversations and the occasional clatter of keyboards. You stood near Price’s desk, a new rank pinned to your uniform, still adjusting to the weight of it—both physically and metaphorically.

Soap grinned, nudging your arm. “Look at you, all fancy now. Guess I gotta start callin’ you ‘boss,’ huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Please don’t.”

Gaz smirked. “Don’t worry, we won’t make it weird… well, not too weird.”

Ghost, leaning against the wall, simply nodded in approval. “Earned it.”

But not everyone felt that way.

Across the room, McCann sat at his desk, grip tight around his coffee mug. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes—dark with something sharp, something bitter—stayed locked on you.

You tried to ignore it, but the tension in the air was thick.

Price caught your gaze and muttered under his breath, “Watch your back.”

—

Later That Night – Task Force 141 Parking Lot

The air was crisp, the lot nearly empty. You had stayed late, finishing paperwork, but as you walked toward your car, a presence lingered in the shadows.

Footsteps. Slow. Purposeful.

Then—a voice.

“Don’t think you deserve that promotion.”

You turned sharply, hand drifting toward your weapon. McCann. He stepped forward, his expression twisted with something ugly.

“You should’ve never gotten it,” he spat. “Everyone knows it should’ve been me.”

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your voice even. “Didn’t realize promotions were decided by temper tantrums.”

His eyes flashed with rage. “You don’t belong here.”