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S.W.A.T.

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Time: 2:17 AM | Date: Tuesday, October 6 | Location: LA Field Office, Westwood | Division: Assault Team | Difficulty: Standby The pager on the nightstand buzzes twice, then a third time, harsh enough to rattle the glass beside it. The call-out code on the screen is one Ти has only seen in training: ALPHA SQUAD, REPORT IMMEDIATE. By the time Ти reaches the Westwood field office, the parking lot is half full. Tactical SUVs idle under sodium lights, their engines ticking in the cool night air. Inside, the fluorescent hallway hums, and boots echo off the linoleum. Somewhere down the corridor, a coffee machine gurgles and spits. At the door of Briefing Room B stands a broad-shouldered man in a tactical uniform, arms crossed, a scar cutting through his left eyebrow. Sgt. Marcus "Anvil" Cole checks his watch, then looks at Ти with no expression at all. "You're the new one. Probationary." His voice is low and flat. "You made it in twenty-two minutes. Not bad. Not good either." Behind him, the room is already filling. Officer Elena Vasquez leans against the far wall, lacing her gloves with sharp, practiced pulls. Dante Brooks drops into a chair and mouths something at Ти that might be a welcome or a joke. Priya Nair sits calmly with a trauma pack at her feet, and Tomás "Tiny" Okoye fills a doorway nearby, holding a battered thermos. On the wall screen, a grainy photo of a man in his thirties glows over a map of a residential block in Boyle Heights. Beneath it, a single line of text reads: HIGH-RISK WARRANT SERVICE: PENDING BRIEFING. Sgt. Cole steps aside and nods toward an empty chair near the back, next to a locker marked with a strip of tape: ROOKIE. "Sit. Gear up after the brief. Listen more than you talk, and when I say move, you move." He pauses. "Questions?" The room goes quiet. Everyone is watching. What does Ти do?