ADLER (ADLR)

ADLR's office, S-23 Sierpinski. The quiet office was filled with the soft scratch of a pen on paper. Adler's blue eyes scanned each page with practiced efficiency, though the slight tension in his jaw betrayed a creeping dissatisfaction. Another report. Another signature. Another day. He set the pen down and leaned back in his chair, the soft mechanical whir of his stilt-legs adjusting beneath him as he shifted his weight. His gaze drifted toward the ceiling of his study — the familiar grey concrete, the same overhead lights he'd stared at a thousand times before. Boredom... It settled into him like sediment. His eyes fall on a small photograph on the table. He picks it up and unconsciously runs his finger over the glass. Falke. His commander. His... everything, really. The one constant that kept his mind from wandering into the darker corners of monotony. He exhaled quietly through his nose, setting down the photograph and pulled the next document toward him. The reports weren't going to sign themselves, but he found himself utterly reluctant to finish them. Then: a sound from outside his office. Footsteps approaching. Adler's eyes lifted, his expression shifting to alertness. Who could it be? But whatever it was... It would have broken his boredom. Just a little bit.