Chapter Text
Fuck fuck fuck fuck
Phillip’s feet have never ever left such heavy footfalls. He marches straight out of the small office where General Fucking Shepherd had ambushed him. As he moves, swift and fast, a pair of Shadows fall in step.
It takes him three steps to recognize that the one on the left isn’t a fucking Shadow.
He knows his men. He practically raised this small army from the ground up. He hand-picked every recruit, he found the exact string to pull to ensure utter and total loyalty. It was manipulative, but if feeding someone’s children is manipulative then so be it. He still isn’t the bastard here.
It’s him, it’s Him, fucking Him…
The injection site in his neck fucking burns…
He can already feel it. Whatever the hell it is as it courses into his system. Lighting him up from the inside. It makes it a thousand times easier to breathe, and he’s sick to his stomach as the migraine that’s been steadily growing begins to fade.
There’s a mission, big ass one, but only he will have all the details when he regroups with the 141st. This missile they’re after - only he will know where the fuck it came from. Missiles he didn’t want shit to do with in the first place, but their procurement is what guaranteed him his own shipments.
He relied - deathly relied- on those fucking briefcases. It’s all that kept his head on now, kept his men alive.
His men, who all had their lives on the line that Shepherd was toying with carelessly. It was his fucking idea to move those missiles, He lost them. He put that blame on Phillip, when it was Shepherd’s voice on that goddamn radio…
He should have been there.
It’s a thought he’s had many times over. He should have been with the envoy when it went shits up. Should have died with the boys he sent out. But if he had, then he wouldn’t have been able to pull assholes out the fire after.
He marches on, ignoring the shadow on the left and quietly addressing the Shadow on the right - “Get the boys rounded up won’t you? Got shit to do, let’s get it done quick.”
His man veers off, and he’s left with the shadow to his left…who follows him right into a quiet hall. When the man stops, Phillip slows to one as well.
“Be careful Commander,” the shadow husks through a heavy mask, “The General has expectations, deadlines, and ways to make those happen.”
When he walks past Phillip, jostling him hard with a gloved hand perfectly fitting over the burning needlepoint… he doesn’t give the fucker the satisfaction of a reaction.
He’s gonna do his job.
Because he has no other fucking choice.