The operative in front of him makes a mock-sympathetic noise, almost sounding like she's pouting behind the helmet. "Ooh, boo hoo. That's the same sob story we hear from everyone else, you know. You think we're supposed to believe that crap?"

The grip on Wash's arm tightens, pulling it back farther. The lead operative places her hands on the table, leaning forward. Her tone doesn't exactly leave room for argument.

"We already know you're not from around here. That much is obvious. And again, you're only telling me shit I've already heard. So I'm going to keep it simple for you, since you seem to be having trouble with this one. I'm just going to ask you one question, and I'll even ask nice and slow for you. Who put you on that shuttle?"