Since the first click on of the comm earlier, Chris had been trying to figure out just what the hell was going on. It wasn't hard to guess, with the way the voices came flat and resigned, that the explosions weren't entirely a surprise for some of them, and it made him wonder if this was what'd had Main on edge for weeks. Knowing that something was coming that would be at this sort of level. He had tried, in those moments of silence in the back of a car, to figure out where he stood in all of it. If it as part of a greater entity (which he really had no doubt), then he wasn't a part of it. He didn't know why he should feel the sort of creeping unease that he did.
By the time the others had said their bits, that creeping unease had settled into a slow burn of anger. He'd had to think on his feet for longer than he could remember - to avoid defences at first, and then to avoid much greater, deadlier things. It didn't take long for him to start putting pieces together. And while it started as resentment that he had gotten pulled into whatever else was going on with this group, he was never one to fool himself that superiors didn't know what was going on. Paranoid maybe, but he didn't for a second think (once the thought jumped into his mind) that him being included there was a mistake. He was the only one left from his squad. He was the damaged one that was supposed to be proving himself so he could be sent back overseas. He was the one that had shit to lose - a job, a future. He'd already lost his family in a quick burst of confession from his father. So much to lose and so quickly.
But then he looked up at the others in the room and realized fast enough that he wasn't the only one with something to lose. He knew Main had a daughter, and he knew that everyone else had their own stories, even if he didn't know the details. And someone with power over them had decided to take that away. It sparked a low-grade sense of betrayal against those that were meant to lead and protect, that he knew would only grow along with his anger. He'd never been one for quick bursts of temper, not like his father, but it simmered on low until it was an unavoidable part of him. Then came the word "treason" like a knife into the softest part of his gut, and he let that thought sink in for a moment. It went against everything he'd put his faith into over the last years, and it hurt. To be brought to something like that because someone at a desk somewhere made some decision to send him to the middle of the desert. Twice...
"Fuck." The word came out quietly, but with a force his voice didn't often hold. Disgust and anger and fear. But mostly anger. Backpack slid off his shoulders, he threw it at the opposite wall of the hallway and walked off a ways, just out of hearing range, though still visible up the hallway.