Problems with Authority

The Kevlar vest felt heavy on his chest, restricting the movement of his upper arms, but not enough to stop him from feeding shells into the magazine.  The metal clicked into place.  1, 2, 3…

“I know what you’re thinking Hatchet,” said the voice in his ears, interrupted by static.  “Don’t.”

“Too late, Duchovny.  Blackout’s three minutes off schedule, and you know it.”  Metal rasped against metal as he threaded the silencer onto the barrel.  

“I’m running this op,” said Duchovny.  “Trust me.”

He slammed the clip into the gun, pulled the slide back.  “No time for that,” he said.