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“Oh, come on. Who did this?”
The Soldier frowns. The Commander paces in front of him, waving his limbs around sporadically. His complexion is turning an alarming shade of red, which is concerning; given the Commander’s current age and diet, it is possible that he may be experiencing a cardiovascular event.
“Did you do this, Johnson? I swear to God I’ll have you on fucking pick up duty in the field indefinitely- ”
“I didn’t do it!” Agent Johnson whines, shoulders climbing toward his ears. His posture is incredibly poor, the Soldier notes. It may be wise for the Commander to demote him.
“It doesn’t matter, Brock,” Agent Rollins says. His voice is quiet, and his eyes roll upward. The Soldier bristles at his refusal to address the Commander by his rank. “Let’s just finish getting ready for the mission, yeah?”
“It looks fuckin’ stupid,” the Commander snarls. His eyes have fixed themselves on the Soldier’s bootless feet hanging off the edge of the table. They gently swing a couple of inches from the concrete floor, adorned in the provided regulation cotton socks.
“I think it’s cute,” Agent Batrei says, weaving her hair into a strange single, rope-like strand and tying it with a black elastic band.
“It’s not cute, ” the Commander growls. “It’s fuckin’ stupid.”
His gaze is still attached to the Soldier’s feet. The Soldier stares forlornly at his boots sitting in the locker across the room. He has been ordered to stay put, so he can not retrieve them and put them on. The sensation of the cool air on his toes through the fabric of the socks feels odd.
“I could give him pigtails,” Agent Batrei suggests, slipping another black band off of her wrist and presenting it to the Commander. “Really complete the whole middle school aesthetic.”
The Soldier is not sure what use the tails of pigs would have on this mission. Given the Commander’s furious expression, he does not find the suggestion actionable either.
“There are squids ,” the Commander says through clenched teeth, “On his socks. ”
The Soldier frowns. There is a vein visibly throbbing on the Commander’s forehead; this could be a sign of high blood pressure.
“Sir,” he says. His voice, still hoarse from cryo, is lost below Agent Johnson loudly proclaiming, “Those are octopuses, not squid.”
The Commander’s eyes bulge.
‘It’s fine, Brock,” Agent Rollins says hastily, “It’s not like they’ll be visible under his boots.”
The Commander exhales heavily through his nose and closes his eyes for precisely five seconds. He opens them, inhales, and exhales again.
“Soldier,” he says evenly. The Soldier sits up straighter. “Put on your fucking boots.”
The Soldier retrieves them from the locker and pulls them on over the patterned cotton socks on his feet.
“Let’s fucking go,” the Commander growls.
The Soldier pulls the mask on over his face and follows him out to the vehicle.