"You really know how to apologize for your mistakes, don't you?" Not a person. He supposes he should be surprised at that. Should be offended, maybe. But he hasn't been a person since bootcamp - just a piece to be moved around in a pan-galactic war spanning colony after colony, and never was that more evident than it was in Project Freelancer.

The closest thing they had to an N.C.O. was a motherfucker who misallocated resources, undercut tactical decisions, and played favorites. At the time, that wasn't notable, because you'd be hard-pressed to find a military company where that wasn't the case. Unorthodox and alternative combat was the name of the game.

"That wasn't Maine." He allows himself that much: a cold snap, the slightest fracture in his composure. "Not anymore."