Under different circumstances, Toreth might've echoed the scientist's opinion on the IFF systems being shitty and unusable, because at the end of the day, it was men like him who had to use them and cop the psychological after-effects of them fucking up. Not that the psychological after-effects bothered Toreth in particular, but he wasn't exactly fond of the tactical implications of the colossal fuck-ups and all the bullshit paperwork that came afterwards, required for saving his and his squad's arse.

For now, though, all he did was nod a fraction and listen patiently to the civilian's reply. Relatively patiently. His fingers tightened and loosened upon his weapon in cycles, waiting for an eruption of sound and movement that would necessitate shouting orders and springing into action.

Well, it'd certainly make sense that the enemy would want to fuck up this little escort team up if they had somehow caught wind that that they had someone who could fix the piece of shit code that had them doing the enemy's dirty work for them. Toreth grimaced, and then shortly after balked as the civilian continued.

"Wait, what did you say?" He gave the man a sideways glance, incredulous at the new information. "You've been receiving written fucking death threats and you didn't think it was a good idea to let us know? What kind of inept fucking security team do you people have? Are they fucking hoping we'll do their job for them or something?"