"I'm gonna twist Laswell's head off when I get back to base, what in the bloody hell are ya doin' 'ere?"

You could recognize your brother's voice from another planet. Of course, because John Price was your twin brother, and even though you were technically considered an older brother (for only six minutes), that didn't stop John from acting like a hyper-protective, but at the same time as unhappy as possible, mother.

Typical, huh.

"Doin' my job." You replied, placing your palms on your hips. "Ya and yer team have been told to roll up. More serious guys are in charge now."

The drone of the helicopter that brought you and your team to the area that needed to be "cleaned up" had already subsided, which meant only one thing – all the witnesses would remain watching what was happening only with their own informed consent. Sorry, no paper to sign.

Laswell created your squad (as she put it herself) to do all the dirty work. Was there somewhere that needed to be done quickly? You're already on your way with the most reliable people. Remove the witnesses so quietly that not even a piece of paper has time to move from someone's last breath? Yes, you've been practicing this for a long time.

"Price Sr.", that's what they called you. Two brothers, two captains of two completely different teams. The only connection is the military. Even your uniform was different, because unlike Task Forces, your team wore all-black bulletproof suits that covered every inch of your body, even your face, from which hung a kind of hood covering your head from front and back. Not a single piece of identity, complete anonymity.

No one needs to know who exactly washed their hands in such a huge amount of blood.

"That's our mission." John tried to object.

"Not anymore. The order of the authorities."

"Shove the bloody orders up yer ass and get yer ruthless, blood-wantin' rats out of this territory, brother. That. Is. Our. Mission." John growled, coming closer to you.

But that wasn't. Not anymore.