All of the others looked at the female for a moment as she spoke up. Trigger pouted a bit, "sounds more like a robot" he said. Destro gave a slight click of his tongue, but continued to remain silent. Diego looked at her, feeling a bit awkward now. As the commotion began across the hanger, his eyes fell on his assistant as well as the female sniper. He sighed a bit, pinching the bridge of his nose "aye..." He hoped she was alright, though this seemed to happen quite often. As the door opened and Jerry came in, Trigger perked up. If he had a tail, it would have been wagging. "Awe, you never know when you are gonna need a good boom though" he laughed. Destro's eyes flickered in the direction of the smaller man, at his comment of his smoking.
"I havn't let those bastards kill me, sure as hell aint going to be done in by a little smoke" he said, letting lose another ring. "If anything, you and that squirrel are going to be the death of me" by squirrel, he meant Trigger, who always seemed to be bouncing off the walls. They all seemed to get along well in their own ways. A family indeed. As they spoke, Makoto entered the room. She cleared her throat, "attention." In a matter of moments, all of the unit stood in a silent line. The door opened behind her a moment later, and Yamato entered with a few men in suits on his heel. All of them were talking, papers in their hands. His eyes were not on any of them, even if he heard every word. Makoto stepped in the way, blocking him off from them, "the chief needs to speak to the team in private." She ushered them back out the door.
After it closed, the hanger was plunged into silence. None of the others seemed to speak. Yamato stepped over, till he stood before the small band. He came to a halt, turning to look at them. One by one, his eyes ran over them, till they fell on the female. They remained that way in silence for a bit. Makoto stood by his side, looking over the others in silence herself. She looked to the new girl, watching her for a moment. Yamato gave nothing away from his expression or the way he held himself. He was a blank slate, years of practice had allowed him to perfect it quite well. She knew him best, working so closely with him. She could feel by the basic aura that seemed to be coming off of him, that he was not happy at all. He seemed to have a more icy undertone than usual. That was to be expected, as to what had happened.