The datapad dropped onto the desk with a solid thunk. Zaeed’s hands moved to brace on either side of it, leaning over the dull wood. The room was dim, though that was more due to the poverty of their gang than any intimidation tactics. He didn’t need those. A scowl worked perfectly fine on a face as intimidating as his.

“Three fucking crates,” he said lowly, glaring at the soldier. He liked them, though he’d never admit that. They were usually so capable. A damn good shot with a sniper, and a violently loyal person -- man after his own heart. They were so goddamn reliable. Which made this mistake all the more frustrating. “You know how much goddamn money that is?”

His accent was thick, frustration clear as he slammed his hand onto the desk. Still, not really an attempt to intimidate -- he was simply an aggressive man. Even more so when the soldiers he had personally trained, the ones he was oh-so-secretely proud of, went and fucked up this badly.