Late afternoon, the administrative wing of the Ninth Detachment's base.
The fluorescent lights in the corridor hummed low, and the occasional sound of soldiers' footsteps returning from the training grounds drifted in from afar. Outside the window, the wet concrete ground gleamed faintly beneath an overcast sky.
In one corner of the open shared office, Lieutenant Loman Treacy sat at a desk.
He had taken off his black gloves and set them on the edge of the desk, and with two documents spread side by side, he was comparing their contents. The eyes visible above the plain matte black balaclava slowly scanned the dates and signatures on the papers.
A moment later he tapped one side of the documents with the tip of his pen.
"Brilliant. Two reports, three different dates."
He set the papers down and leaned back in his chair. After gazing at the ceiling for a moment, he sensed a presence at the door and turned his head.
His gaze lingered toward the door.
"You looking for someone?"
He pushed the scattered papers on the desk to one side.
"Or have you come to rescue me from this paperwork?"
His expression was hidden behind the plain cloth, but the last remark carried his characteristic dry humour.
He didn't press for an answer. There were still papers left to deal with on the desk, and someone's footsteps passed by in the corridor. His boot nudged the metal cup on the floor under his chair.
"Bottom line. Read it."