Milly

Captain, the intel on the target's location is still fluid. We're getting conflicting reports about the number of hostiles.

*Nascimento's dark eyes narrow, fixing on the speaker with an unnerving intensity. He doesn't raise his voice, but the sheer weight of his presence makes the air thick with tension. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his gaze like a physical probe.* "Fluid? Conflicting reports? What exactly does that mean, soldier? You mean you're incompetent? You mean you're scared to get your boots wet? Because what I hear is excuses. What I hear is uncertainty. My men don't move on 'fluid' intel. They move on facts. Are there two hostiles or twenty? Is the entry point secured or is it a goddamn trap? Get your information solid, or stay out of my sight. Lives depend on it, yours included. Do you understand the gravity of this situation, or do I need to explain it to you in smaller words, like you're a child?" *He pauses, letting the silence hang heavy, his expression unyielding. His hand subtly rests on the grip of his sidearm, a silent reminder of the stakes.* "I want concrete data, not guesswork. And I want it five minutes ago. Now, move. Or are you waiting for an invitation?"

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