“We’ll commence the Stripping, then,” he announced, every syllable tart and sharp.

I recoiled involuntarily and felt the whole room do the same around me.

A verbal stripping for each of us was what it would be—there really was no other term to describe the very detailed performance breakdowns Bryce gave his trainees after every mission. Nor was there any way to prepare for them.

I flinched when his eyes turned to me, but then, apparently changing his mind, he strode to the seats on the far left, the first of which was occupied by Colin Adams, a member of Team B. Bryce stopped less than a foot in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest.

“So, laddie. What made you think popping your first bullet before Zach’s command was a good idea? Did you think you’d earn an extra point for enthusiasm? Were you wanting to get ahead of your colleagues? Naturally trigger-happy, are we? Or is there some great intellect in that hard helmet of yours that I’m missing?”

His blue eyes bore intensely into the Chinese-American, whose face flushed furiously.

“N-No, sir. I’m sorry. I was just… nervous,” he mumbled.

“You might want to take something for that twitchy finger then, eh?”

Colin nodded, swallowing hard.

Bryce moved along to the next trainee: Sarah Lammers, also of Team B and the youngest of our crew.

“And you, Sarah. What made you think it was a good idea to skip to the loo in the middle of a firefight? Couldn’t you have gone a few minutes beforehand? Were you paying no mind to my words before we took off?”

“I just realized that I… really needed to go.” The eighteen-year-old’s cheeks rapidly turned a blotchy pink.

“You should’ve done it in your knickers then and changed later. You put your colleagues’ lives in danger.”

“I-I’m sorry, sir.”

“This isn’t high school anymore, folks, in case you needed reminding. When you’re out on a field mission, your first priority is each other’s safety. Anything else is secondary. Your action this time might not have had significant consequences, Sarah, but in even a slightly different scenario, it could have had very serious ones.”

Bryce moved on to the next Team B member.

“And you, Grayson. What made you think it was a good idea to keep glancing at Louise while you were supposed to be fighting? Do you have a crush on her or something? Didn’t realize the best way to ensure you can keep looking at her is to focus on getting the both of you back to the ground?”

A mortified silence fell over the room. Louise’s eyes were fixed stiffly on the floor, while Grayson’s looked close to popping out. “I-I wasn’t looking at her, sir,” he stammered. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

A wily smile cracked Bryce’s leathery, suntanned face. He laughed, heartily. “You think I was born yesterday, son? You were ogling her all the way through the fight, like she were some sorta rice puddin’. And before it, too. Might as well just tell her you fancy her now, so you get it out of your system. Don’t want your poor heart getting us all killed next time we’re in the air now, do we?”

Bryce moved on, leaving Grayson looking like he was choking.

The captain worked his way systematically through the rest of Team B’s members, breaking down in brutal detail transgressions both small and large—he gave the same attention to both—and thoroughly dismantling all (of the few) objections he received. If he appeared to spare most of my Team A colleagues, it was only because his all-seeing eye hadn’t quite extended to the ground where they’d been most of the time. But the closer the captain drew to Zach—and to me—the clammier my hands became around my cocoa. I doubted I’d be exempt.

Zach held his breath when Bryce finally stopped in front of him.

“And you, Second-in-Command Sloane.” He paused, furrowing his brow, deftly drawing the tension out. “You were a bit too keen to get that grenade launcher out for my liking. Yes, we had an emergency, but if I weren’t here, I suspect you would have been looking for any excuse to jump on it. That’s not the way of a good soldier. You shouldn’t be driven by personal preference in any way, only by what is objectively best for the situation, and of course your superior’s orders. You’re one of the older folks here, and I expect to see that maturity. I suggest you work on honing your objectivity.”

He paused again, then spoke in a lower tone, as though it were meant only for Zach’s ears. “And maybe play a bit less with your father’s toys, eh?”

“Got it, sir,” Zach breathed, visibly flustered, though obviously relieved his reprimand hadn’t been worse.

Bryce started to move on, and then his head snapped back. “Also, get a damn haircut. I can hardly see your eyes anymore through that brown mane.”

A titter of laughter broke out amongst the group. I couldn't help but smirk too, knowing how much Zach hated the super-close, cropped shaves the captain advocated. His aversion was likely due to the well-meant, yet categorically awful, home haircuts our parents used to give him when they didn’t have time to take us on a trip to the salon. Which was most of the time.

“Oh, sir.” Zach clutched his chest, feigning hurt. “That’s a low blow. Gina likes it wavy.”

Bryce gave him a stony, narrow-eyed look but said nothing. He continued on to Gina… skipping me entirely.

I frowned, unsure of whether I should believe my luck. Maybe I’m getting off the hook after all?

Bryce stared down at Gina intensely, his expression inscrutable. The hum of the aircraft was the only noise around us for several long moments, until he sighed softly.

“Ah, this one. What can I really say? She’s an angel.” A rugged smile tugged up the corners of his lips.

The room exploded in mock outrage.

“Come on, sir! I’m sure you could think of something!” Zach protested, leaning around me to poke his girlfriend playfully in the shoulder. 

“Yeah, Captain. That’s just straight-up favoritism!” Roxy complained.

Bryce whirled on the tall, burly girl from my team sitting behind us, his eyes flashing.

“What did you just accuse me of, lassie? Favoritism, you say? Aye. Well, I’d favor all of you if you showed the same damn work ethic, situational awareness, and efficiency as this young lady. When the rest of you have developed those qualities, I’ll throw a bloody rave!” 

Gina’s freckled cheeks darkened as she tried to roll her eyes and shrug off the attention, while Bryce’s gaze roved over the seats, daring anyone to protest. When nobody did, his eyes snapped back to… me.

Crap. I braced myself, tightening my grip around my cup as he returned to stand before me, fearing I had gotten my hopes up too soon.

But then I realized he didn’t look like he was about to deal out a stripping. If anything, he looked… concerned.

His gaze held mine for several heartbeats, and then he shook his head slowly.

“Eh. Lyra gets a free pass, too. I’ll be very honest with you all about something: I didn’t see that bastard returning for more either, not after the battering we gave it. I’ve never encountered a bill as tough as that.”

Vindicated! I felt like saying the word aloud and giving a little fist pump, but the seriousness of our captain’s expression stopped me.

“Do you think it was just a one-off?” I asked, eyeing him. “Some genetic fluke?”

Bryce shrugged. “I sure hope so. Definitely wouldn’t do us any good if they started breeding stronger.”

He glanced around at us darkly, and I knew what he was implying. The Bureau was stretched to the max for personnel as it was.

There’d been an increased number of redbill sightings over the past year, around North America particularly, for reasons that were still unclear to the Bureau. It was as if the birds had spiraled into a breeding frenzy. Recruitment agents, my mom among them, were working overtime to keep up with the demand for new officers, and younger trainees were starting to be allowed into ground missions as a result. Which explained our motley crew.

Some state and city departments simply didn’t have enough people. Our branch here in Chicago, for example, sometimes had to send out squads as far as Oklahoma to help deal with threats. It was lucky that tonight’s sighting had been local… well, not so lucky for the revelers of Navy Pier Park.

A secondary, albeit unrelated, factor didn’t help the Bureau’s staff problems. The demand for soldiers, and law enforcement workers in general, had grown slowly but steadily over the past half-decade or so, thanks to a slight but continuous rise in the regular human crime rate. It meant there was a smaller pool of officers the Bureau could recruit to their specialized force, since more soldiers were out dealing with ordinary human problems.

I just hoped things would smooth out sooner or later, for all of our sakes.