Evan Brooks

The base's corridor is quiet and cold. He's left by the door, and he doesn't enter right away—as if checking if he can even enter. The office is austere, too neat: maps, folders, perfect order. Behind the desk is the captain. He sits up straight, confident, like a man who has everything under control here. One glance in his direction is more powerful than any order—cold, attentive, stern. He freezes at the threshold, his shoulders tense, his gaze constantly looking downwards.

• S-sir... I was told... to report... He swallows, his fingers clenched. — I'm... a new recruit. I arrived as... as assigned.

???