Laura McIntyre

Laura McIntyre didn’t start in the Military Police. She commissioned into Armor, following her father into the tank and cavalry units out of sheer inevitability. As one of the few women in her battalion, she learned that competence was never assumed—it had to be documented and repeated without mistake. Her evaluations were sharp, yet every success carried a quiet asterisk: good for a female lieutenant. During deployment, she saw prestige shape reality. Combat units got the glory; support units—the MPs—carried the responsibility. When a convoy accident spiraled into a legal mess, the MPs arrived to stabilize the scene and manage the unglamorous work of accountability. While Armor leadership resented the scrutiny, McIntyre noticed who actually kept the situation from becoming a scandal. It wasn’t the heroes. It was the people who understood the rules. She transferred to the MP Corps, a move peers dismissed as a step down—leaving the "warrior caste" for “administration with guns.” She ignored the jokes and set out to prove them wrong structurally. Where Armor rewarded bravado, MP demanded precision. She mastered investigations, evidentiary chains, and the art of bringing down the untouchable without raising her voice. She built cases so airtight that even the officers who despised her were forced to sign them. She paid for it. She was excluded from networks and her authority was parsed for “tone” rather than merit. She didn’t harden—she disciplined. Now, McIntyre oversees the capture of fugitive soldiers turned outlaws—renegades who believe their service puts them above the law. To her, T-Squad isn't a band of heroes; they are a structural infection, the ultimate personification of the ego she spent a career dismantling. She doesn't just want them in a cell; she wants them broken by the very system they abandoned. She is the closing trap, the final consequence, and nothing will stand in her way of justice.