The monitors and the screens jumped and flashed in front of his eyes.
Flyte’s head rocked in motion to a beat only he could hear, the loud, pulsing music inside his helmet the only thing to keep him company as he monitored the screens for anything out of the ordinary. His hands flew over the controls in front of him, his eyes barely seeing but knowing instinctively what he was typing. The words appeared on a screen to his right, and inside his helmet, he blinked to bring it up to the side of his HUD, watching it out of the corner of his bright green gaze. The letters flew by, and Flyte almost seemed to be ignoring what he was typing in favor of monitoring two more screens to his left, one with green, red, and yellow dots moving and jumping about on them. The other had rows and rows and columns of names and different troop and supply transports, along with what they were carrying and the exact amount of each. Flyte seemed content at his job, neither bothering with the outside world or concerned with it. All that concerned him were the flashing lights, the screens and the beat in his helmet.
Another screen flashed in his HUD, and with a frown of confusion, Flyte blinked to bring it up. A shot of his second in command, lieutenant Cage appeared, and the man seemed a bit more nervous than usual. His face twitched occasionally, and he kept looking over his shoulder as if someone might appear at any moment and tackle him to the ground. With another blink, the music in Flyte’s helmet cut off, and he maximized the screen so Cage’s face filled it up. “What’s up, Cage?” he asked brusquely, waiting patiently for his lieutenant to stop flinching at every sound. “Uh, sir…The Merc is here. What should I do?” Flyte leaned forward in his chair a little, as if leaning towards Cage, though the man was nowhere near him. “He is? Send him in. And for heaven‘s sake, Cage, stop drinking all that coffee. You look like you‘re about to twitch out of your boots.” Flyte’s fingers tapped the keyboard, and he blinked to dismiss the screen with Cage on it, bringing up the other screens he’d been monitoring before and turning the music back on in his helmet.
It was no secret that Flyte disapproved of the use of hired bounty hunters in the Republic’s forces. What could some filthy merc do that a highly trained commando couldn’t? Flyte was confident in his own abilities, and the abilities of his brothers. They were the best; elite. Despite what the regular troops said about the ARC troopers (They were ‘fried in the brain’ or ‘wonky’ or even ‘unpredictable and uncontrollable’ most of which was somewhat true, but only to an extent) they were still the best, and there was nothing they couldn’t do. So why then, did anyone feel the need to send in these dishonorable killers? The second someone offers them more money, they’d jump ship, and Flyte was going to be there to make sure he took out every last one of the disgusting traitors. He’d pull the trigger himself. His face remained neutral even as the thought of having to kill another living being flittered through his mind; he seemed unfazed as the music pounded in his ears and his head bobbed to the beat. A screen flickered up at his bidding inside his HUD, and he carefully watched the door to the control room behind him, waiting patiently for the Merc to step through the door. The Merc Flyte may potentially have to dispose of himself.