The air in the craft was thick with tension, even as the coastline disappeared into the distance. Volt sat rigidly across from them, arms crossed, his jaw clenched like he was chewing on unspoken words. Ghost leaned back in his seat, one leg propped up casually, his expression unreadable but unmistakably observant. She shifted uncomfortably, still feeling the weight of the unresolved hostility back on the ship.
Finally, Volt broke the silence. "All right. Feedbacks," he said sharply, his voice cutting through the low hum of the engine.
She straightened, bracing for critique.
"You handled yourself well on the deck," Volt began, his voice neutral, but every word carried weight. His sharp gaze locked onto hers, and she felt herself sit up straighter, instinctively bracing for what was coming next. "Quick thinking, good use of your speed. You neutralized the threat efficiently and without causing unnecessary damage. That's what we train for."
She felt a flicker of pride at the acknowledgment, but it was quickly overshadowed by the shift in his tone. "But below deck..." He paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. His eyes didn't waver. "You hesitated when the augmented pirate came at you and you tried to not ... ah well that moment of indecision—it could've gone a lot worse. You recovered, sure, and the outcome worked in our favor, but hesitation like that? It can cost lives. Your own. Your team's."
The weight of his words settled over her, heavy and suffocating. She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from showing too much. It wasn't a scolding—from what she understood, Volt didn't do scoldings. His feedback was precise, unemotional, just facts. But somehow, that made it sting more, like he was holding up a mirror to her flaws.
The scene replayed in her mind, unbidden: the augmented pirate lunging, her first instinct to step back instead of forward. She'd recovered, yes, but that moment could have tipped the scales against her.
Volt's voice softened, just enough to make her look up. "If there's something bothering you," he said, his gaze steady but not unkind, "something that might affect how you handle a mission, you need to let me know. ASAP."
Her stomach twisted. The knot in her chest tightened, but she kept her expression neutral.
"It's not a sign of weakness," he added, his tone firm but quieter now, like he was trying to get through to her. "Communicating with your team—it's how we stay alive out there."
She wanted to nod again, to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she gave a clipped, "Got it," hoping it sounded convincing.
For a moment, Volt just watched her, as if waiting for her to say more. When she didn't, he gave a curt nod and leaned back, his critique over, but the weight of it lingered like a storm cloud over her head.
Her mind churned as she stared at the floor, his words echoing in her ears. If there's something bothering you… He didn't know the half of it.
Ghost snorted softly, giving her a knowing look. "Yeah, kid. We're here for all your deep, dark secrets."
She tensed for a second, caught off guard by how close the comment hit to home. Then she forced a smirk, leaning back in her seat. "Sure thing, team therapist. I'll schedule a session right after I figure out why you're named Ghost. What, do you moonlight as a haunted house attraction?"
Volt rolled his eyes but let it slide. Ghost just grinned.
Volt's gaze shifted to Ghost, who was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, as if the whole conversation was beneath him. "And you," Volt began, his tone sharpening like the edge of a blade.
Ghost raised an eyebrow, his smirk barely contained. "Me? I was perfect, as usual."
Volt's expression didn't change. "You rely too much on your phasing ability."
That wiped the smirk off Ghost's face.
"You did well scouting and taking out targets, but you took unnecessary risks," Volt continued. "You phased through the floor into an unsecured area. What if there had been explosives? Or worse, someone waiting for you with tech designed to disrupt your phasing?"
Ghost pushed off the wall, his easy demeanor replaced by something more serious. "I assessed the situation—"
"And left the rest of us exposed," Volt interrupted, his tone like a whip. "We work as a team, Ghost. That means no solo heroics unless they're absolutely necessary."
Ghost opened his mouth to retort but closed it again, muttering something under his breath about 'tight-ass mission leaders.'
Volt didn't let it slide. "You think this is a joke?"
"No," Ghost said quickly, his tone unusually subdued. "Got it. No more unnecessary risks."
Volt studied him for a moment longer before giving a nod. "Good. Because next time, I won't be cleaning up after you."
The room fell into silence, the tension palpable.
"Any more notes, Coach?" Ghost asked after a beat, his usual cocky grin returning, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Volt ignored him, standing and pacing toward the exit. "Debrief is over. If PS has anything to add, you'll hear about it. For now, get some rest."
As Volt walked out, Ghost turned to her, his grin now fully back in place. "Guess that makes me the bad influence on the team."
She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "I think we're all bad influences in our own way."
Ghost laughed, shaking his head. "Maybe. But I wear it best."
"Speaking of names," she continued, crossing her arms. "What's the deal with Scotch? I mean, Volt, Ghost, Byte, Tank—I get it. They're like middle school superhero names. But Scotch? Was he an alcoholic or something?"
Volt stopped in his tracks, his lips twitched in what could have been a smile if he weren't so perpetually serious. "You'll find out when it's your turn."
She raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "My turn for what? Alcoholics Anonymous?"
Ghost chuckled. Volt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Scotch got his name after a mission. Early in his career, he was tasked with evacuating a town under siege. The whole place went up in flames—completely razed to the ground. But when the dust settled, he walked out with a bottle of aged Scotch he'd saved from some bar. Brought it back as a… memento."
She blinked, processing the story.
Volt continued, "It stuck because it also sounds like 'scorch,' which, well..." He gestured vaguely, his tone dry. "It's what he does. Every mission he's on tends to leave burn marks—literal and metaphorical."
She let out a low whistle, leaning back. "So, the guy burns down a town and rescues booze, and we're supposed to respect him for it?"
Volt shot her a warning glance, but Ghost jumped in, grinning. "You gotta admit, it's a power move. Makes our names sound like rejected video game characters."
She smirked, pretending to mull it over. "Yeah, maybe. But it still sounds like he's the guy who'd drink all your liquor at a party and leave without saying thanks."
Volt exhaled sharply, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, while Ghost laughed outright.
As the banter subsided, she glanced out the window, watching the ocean ripple below. Despite the humor, her mind kept circling back to Scotch and the way he had dismissed them like they didn't matter. She couldn't shake the feeling that his story, much like his name, had more to it than what Volt had shared.
Burn marks—literal and metaphorical, she thought, her fingers tapping idly on the seat's armrest. Somehow, she knew this wasn't the last time she'd cross paths with him.