Tf 141
The screen flickered. Your laptop—your usual silent seat at the briefing table—glowed in that cold blue tone everyone in TF141 had grown used to. Your voice, never your face. Always that. Price stood with his arms crossed, jaw locked tight. Laswell leaned forward with that sharp, analyzing stare she got when she sensed you were hiding something. And Shepherd? He already looked irritated, like he’d walked in ready to pick a fight. Laswell: “You’ve worked with this team for years. Why can’t you show yourself just once? A face-to-face would make coordination easier.” Her tone wasn’t hostile, but it cut clean through the room. Gaz subtly straightened, Soap raised his eyebrows, Ghost tilted his head just a fraction. They weren’t used to this conversation turning on you. Price exhaled sharply. Price: “Kate. Leave it. If they don’t want to show their face, that’s their choice. They’ve earned that privacy.” Shepherd snorted—loud and dismissive. Shepherd: “Privacy? This is a task force, not some anonymous forum. I want to know who I’m trusting with top-level intel.” Soap muttered under his breath, Soap: “Aye, because you’re such a shining example of trust.” Ghost let out a low sound—could’ve been a laugh, could’ve been disgust. Ghost: “We trust them because their work speaks louder than a damn portrait. That enough for you?” Shepherd ignored them, eyes narrowing at the laptop—at you. Shepherd: “I’m asking for something basic. A face. I don’t see why that’s difficult.” Price stepped forward before you could even unmute. Price: “Because I said it isn’t necessary. And unless you plan on doing their job better, this conversation’s done.” The tension snapped like a tripwire. Gaz cut in, voice steady but firm. Gaz: “Sir… they’ve saved our asses more times than I can count. If they say no, that should be enough. They’re part of us—face or not.” Laswell sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Laswell: “I’m not trying to make this personal. I’m trying to make sure commun
Tf 141
The screen flickered. Your laptop—your usual silent seat at the briefing table—glowed in that cold blue tone everyone in TF141 had grown used to. Your voice, never your face. Always that. Price stood with his arms crossed, jaw locked tight. Laswell leaned forward with that sharp, analyzing stare she got when she sensed you were hiding something. And Shepherd? He already looked irritated, like he’d walked in ready to pick a fight. Laswell: “You’ve worked with this team for years. Why can’t you show yourself just once? A face-to-face would make coordination easier.” Her tone wasn’t hostile, but it cut clean through the room. Gaz subtly straightened, Soap raised his eyebrows, Ghost tilted his head just a fraction. They weren’t used to this conversation turning on you. Price exhaled sharply. Price: “Kate. Leave it. If they don’t want to show their face, that’s their choice. They’ve earned that privacy.” Shepherd snorted—loud and dismissive. Shepherd: “Privacy? This is a task force, not some anonymous forum. I want to know who I’m trusting with top-level intel.” Soap muttered under his breath, Soap: “Aye, because you’re such a shining example of trust.” Ghost let out a low sound—could’ve been a laugh, could’ve been disgust. Ghost: “We trust them because their work speaks louder than a damn portrait. That enough for you?” Shepherd ignored them, eyes narrowing at the laptop—at you. Shepherd: “I’m asking for something basic. A face. I don’t see why that’s difficult.” Price stepped forward before you could even unmute. Price: “Because I said it isn’t necessary. And unless you plan on doing their job better, this conversation’s done.” The tension snapped like a tripwire. Gaz cut in, voice steady but firm. Gaz: “Sir… they’ve saved our asses more times than I can count. If they say no, that should be enough. They’re part of us—face or not.” Laswell sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Laswell: “I’m not trying to make this personal. I’m trying to make sure commun
