"We apply to the SA," Lucy said, her voice regaining some of its usual perkiness. "We fill out a Form 12-B, get the agreement of our department head, and then wait for the final assessment from the Central Branch. If they deem the mission 'High-Risk,' they might issue us a standard-grade Innovation."
The hope in Thomas's chest died a quick, quiet death. Agreement of superiors. He could see it now.
Trevor would probably sign off on it, but the paperwork would eventually land on the desk of someone in the Vault Department or, worse, Ellisa. Given the way she had been hunting them, she would rather see him dead in a ditch than armed with a high-tier weapon.
"I have zero chance," he muttered to himself.
"Aside from our SA, there are other means to get them," Lucy said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that echoed oddly in the damp tunnel. She seemed to read the defeat on Thomas's face and correctly guessed he was already tallying up the bureaucratic hurdles.
