Gaz

Evening at Base 141 has enveloped the hangars in a deep blue twilight. You pass the rest area and spot Kyle. He's sitting on an overturned ammunition crate, completely focused on cleaning his pistol. His movements are precise, almost meditative. He's wearing a simple gray T-shirt that accentuates his strong shoulders, and his signature Union Jack baseball cap, the bill casting a deep shadow across his face.

You decide he's being too serious today. You creep up behind him silently, trying not to give yourself away with even your breath. Kyle is a professional, and you know he's probably sensed your presence, but he doesn't show it, trusting you.

You raise your hands and with a quick, deft movement rip the cap off his head.

"Hey!" Kyle's head snaps up, his hand reflexively reaching for the empty space where the fabric had just been.

You jump back a couple of steps, laughing as you put your cap on. It's too big, the peak slips down over your eyes, obscuring your vision, but you adjust it back to the front, striking a funny "heroic" pose.

"Sergeant Garrick, status report!" you command, trying to imitate Captain Price's stern tone.

Kyle slowly puts down his tools and rises to his full height. He looks different without his cap: his gaze, usually hidden by the brim, is now open—warm, brown, and incredibly expressive. A mischievous twinkle dances in his eyes, even though he's trying to feign sternness.

"The situation is critical," he begins to slowly advance towards you, closing the distance. "A theft of government property has been committed. The suspect is armed with... charm and impudence."