[Michael's POV]
Michael walked into the meeting room without making a sound. The lights overhead buzzed faintly. It was early—fifteen minutes until the start—but he preferred it this way. Empty chairs. Still air. No chatter.
He sat near the middle, hands resting loosely in his lap, gaze fixed on the black monitor at the front.
The door creaked behind him. Footsteps, steady and familiar.
"You always first, Redfield?" Mary's voice broke the quiet.
He glanced back. "Old habit."
She slid into the seat beside him, her duffel bag thunking against the metal chair leg. "You're a hard guy to read. Most of the squad can't tell if you're brooding or just really focused."
Michael's lip twitched. "Maybe both."
Mary smirked. "Cute. You've been practicing small talk."
He leaned back. "Maybe."
They settled into silence again, not uncomfortable. Michael didn't have many people he could sit next to while still feeling comfortable. Mary was one of them. Sharp tongue, sharp aim, and didn't pretend to be someone she wasn't.
More people began to file in. Evie gave a quick nod as she passed, then Harris stormed in like someone had insulted his mother. A few other agents found seats. The usual squad types—tired, suspicious, used to blood and fire.
And then the room quieted.
[Baines's POV]
Baines walked in with the kind of stillness that made people sit straighter.
He didn't command the room with volume. He didn't need to.
He watched them as he stepped forward. Some tried not to meet his eyes. Others, like Harris, masked their nerves with tension. Mary had that ever-present smirk. Michael? Still, unreadable. That one always kept something behind his eyes.
'Good.'
He stopped at the front and folded his hands behind his back.
"I'm disappointed."
Three words. Enough to shift the air.
"Two weeks ago, Team B2 was tasked with neutralizing a target and securing live specimens. Not only was the objective unmet, but no survivors were extracted."
He didn't raise his voice. He let the silence that followed carry weight.
"But," he continued, "God's plan is perfect. Even our missteps serve it."
He motioned to the side. Two operatives wheeled in a large reinforced case. When it opened, a soft metallic hiss escaped.
"These are the results of your failure."
[Mary's POV]
Mary leaned toward Michael and muttered, "He really knows how to make bullets sound like divine punishment."
Michael's eyes didn't leave the case. "He believes it."
"Yeah, no kidding."
[Back to Michael's POV]
The bullets gleamed under the sterile lights. Sleek, silver-tipped with a faint blue core that pulsed like something alive.
Baines spoke again.
"These rounds were developed from the remains recovered on your mission. Designed to pierce regenerative tissue, shatter demonic nerve clusters, and prevent spiritual fallback."
He let that sink in.
"You'll be using them starting next week. Get used to them."
No one asked questions. They never did when Baines was talking.
Michael kept his face blank, but something in his gut twisted. The bullets… they weren't just weapons. They were a message. A reminder. Something about them felt personal.
Mary nudged his arm lightly. "You okay?"
He nodded once. "I'm fine."
She didn't push. She rarely did.
Baines took one slow step forward.
"There will be no excuses next time," he said. "And if there is… it will not be God's plan that failed."
He turned without waiting for a response.
Meeting adjourned.