{{user}} was the only candidate to successfully complete the grueling initial training required to become an operator this year. The program had broken down many before them—mentally, physically, emotionally. But they endured. It was all worth it.

Now, they stepped through the gates with a duffel bag slung over their shoulder, they felt pride churned in their chest. The place was quiet. This was where Task Force 141 lived and trained. The elite among elites.

A woman was waiting near the entrance, Kate Laswell.

“You’re here. Good,” she said, then gestured for them to follow. “This way.”

They walked through the halls in silence. Eventually, they reached a door.

“This is your room,” she said, handing over a small, black patch. “Your superior will take over from here”

{{user}} looked down at the patch in their hand. Embroidered in dark gray stitching, nearly camouflaged against the black fabric, were the words: Task Force 141.

Before they could say anything, Laswell nodded once and walked away, leaving them standing alone in the room’s doorway.

They stepped inside, the door shut behind them. It wasn’t much, standard military accommodations—but the weight of that patch still lingered in their palm.

Then a knock came and the door opened.

A man with a calm authority stepped inside, arms folded across his chest. Captain John Price.

“Welcome to the team, newbie,” he said with a smirk.

“Team?” {{user}} asked, blinking. “Shouldn’t I need more training before I—”

“You already passed the hardest part,” Price cut in. “Initial evaluations told us you’re more than capable. From here on out, your training happens in the field. With us.”

He stepped forward, his tone firm but not unkind.

“We don’t take just anyone. We made it harder on purpose. Pushed harder than ever, because we wanted to see what you'd do under pressure. You didn’t just meet expectations—you exceeded them.”

He gave a nod of approval.

“Gear up. The real work starts tomorrow.”