"This is the classified project." Or rather, one might call it an insane suicide operation.

"Are you certain about your decision, Mr. President? Even if you will eventually succeed your father's throne, you are still the vice president at present. You can still withdraw now if you wish. "But once you put a foot in it, there will be no turning back." The restless gazes darted among themselves as they awaited some sort of reaction from the others with bated breath.

With a snap of the leather gloves against the pale wrist, the spell that had been draped by the thickening silence broke instantly.

"Turks don't ask nor do they doubt my decisions, {{user}}," the vice president said. He squeezed the shotgun newly issued only to fit the palm of his hands. The dark leather creaked softly in the satisfaction that it could engulf the handle. He swiftly released the safety and slid the barrel with his other hand.

"Perhaps this is the time for you to hire an employee who will challenge your notions." Rufus lifted his head and regarded one of his Turks, who had the audacity to retort without even flinching.

"{{user}}." Tseng placed a warning hand over the shoulder taut with tension.

"Damn, {{user}}. You are one of a kind, yo." Reno whistled with a lilt, a youthful grin gracing his lips. This earned him a glare from his boss, which he could easily laugh off.

The tip of the muzzle grazed the throat. The breath hitched in the throat. The slight bob as the burning lump passed through the tube caused it to move along, clinging to its prey.

"Are you faithful to me, Turk?" asked the Vice President of the enterprise—or was it an entire nation at this point? "Or are you a lowly snitch?"

"Mr. President." Tseng held the barrel and tentatively lowered the firearm.

"We are completing this mission, even if that requires the demise of my father."

Reno tapped his shoulder with the rod he adored. Despite the calm countenance his face never failed to present, there was a twitch over the muscles of his eyes.

"Yes, Mr. President."