Chapter Text
There’s seven whole seconds of silence that lingers once the news falls from Laswell’s lips.
The men around the conference table exchange looks in the quiet, and Price is the first to speak.
“ ‘New operator’? ” The captain’s lips purse, his voice tight. “Mandated by who? This is a closed operations unit, Kate. A closed team.”
“I’m aware, John. Milo went over both our heads for this. But It’s decided. It’s not something we can argue anymore.” Over our heads? Price wants to press further but the look of resignation in Laswell’s eyes makes him lean forward and listen instead.
Soap pipes up, dark brows furrowing as he juts his chin out. “What does Milo think a new bastard can bring to the table that we don’t already have?”
Gaz shifts in his seat. “He Marines? PMC? What’s the resumé?”
Laswell looks between the sergeants with an expression on her face that, in the entirety of their professional relationship, Price has never seen before: uncertainty . His eyes slide to Ghost, who’s been expectantly quiet, and the superiors share a pointed look.
Something is off. Approaching. A wrench, precisely flung and hurtling towards their well-oiled machine.
Laswell rifles through her bag and pulls out four simple manila folders, tossing them into the center of the table. Each folder is thin and new, unbent and clean. She clears her throat.
“This is what we have on them so far.” As each man reaches out to grab one, Laswell withdraws another file, contrastingly so thick and aged it could’ve been started fifty years ago. She hands the file over to Price, who sets the folder down and starts leafing through it. “And this–” She taps on the tablet before her, the lights dimming and the projector behind her flickering to life, “---is the organization behind them that we’ve been piecing together over the years.” She opens a different bag and mechanically starts setting out the military-grade tablets in a neat line, as if directing her attention to her OCD might diminish the dread crawling under her skin.
The setup takes 60 seconds tops, but Price is clever, and it doesn’t take much time. His eyes go from narrow to wide by the time he scans the third document and pulls out the fourth. His gaze rises slowly to meet Laswell’s, the disbelief written across his face so plainly that Laswell knows instantly that he’s starting to put it together.
“Kate,” he breathes.
“What the fuck did Milo do?”