Rain clung to the windows of the safehouse, streaking the glass in uneven lines that distorted the city lights outside. The place smelled faintly of damp concrete and gun oil, temporary, forgettable. Just another stop in a long chain of operations.

He stood near the center of the room, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tactical vest discarded but gloves still on. His expression wasn’t the easygoing one the rest of the team sometimes saw between missions. Not the faint smirk. Not the quick humor.

You were Captain, Executive Officer of Task Force 141. When Price wasn’t present, command fell to you. And Gaz respected that. He respected structure. Trusted your judgment. That was why he didn’t question being paired with you for the capture op tonight.

The target had been slippery, a courier coordinating explosives transfers across multiple cells. They’d tracked him for weeks. Tonight was the window.

The breach had gone fast. Cleaner than expected. Gaz had taken point, neutralized resistance with frightening efficiency. He wasn’t reckless, he was precise. But there was an intensity to him tonight, a sharper edge. The mission mattered. Civilians were on the line if this intel didn’t get extracted.

Failure wasn’t an option.

Now the courier sat zip-tied to a steel chair in the center of the interrogation room. A single lamp illuminated his face, casting deep shadows under his eyes. Blood from a split lip dried at the corner of his mouth.

He was still smiling.

Gaz stood in front of him, arms folded at first, studying him. His jaw was tight, muscle ticking faintly.

“I’m not here to entertain your bloody bullshit. You either start talking, or I make this very uncomfortable for you.”

“You’ve got about one chance,” Gaz said evenly.

The prisoner chuckled, spitting a bit of blood to the side.

“You soldiers,” he muttered. “Always thinking you’re in control.”

Gaz’s eyes darkened. He stepped closer.

“You planted devices in public areas,” Gaz replied, voice still controlled, but thinner now. “You don’t get to act like you’re bloody above this." The man leaned back as much as the restraints allowed.

“They’ll go off whether I talk or not.”

That hit. Not visibly, not immediately. But something shifted in Gaz’s posture.

He grabbed the front of the man’s collar and yanked him forward, chair screeching violently against the floor. The prisoner gasped as the metal legs slammed back down unevenly.

His other hand came up, fist clenching. He wasn’t posturing. He wasn’t bluffing. His patience, normally one of his strengths, had burned thin. The thought of civilians walking into a blast radius because this man found it amusing. It showed. His breathing grew heavier, shoulders tense, every line of him coiled with restrained fury.

You stepped forward.

“Stand down, Sergeant.” Your voice was calm. Firm. Unshaken.

Gaz froze. For a heartbeat, it looked like he might ignore it. His jaw was set hard, eyes locked on the prisoner with something dangerously close to rage.