The first day in their tent is spent fixing and cleaning it. After removing the junk in their room, Gusto starts work on maintenance while Danzo focuses on sanitation. At the current rate, they won't be finished before the end of the night.

  Moving onto the bed, Danzo lifts the mattress and is greeted by a distinct, moldy odour permeating from it. He holds his breath and drags the mattress off the frame. As it scrapes across the floor, a wet line is left behind it. Before he reaches the entrance to the tent, it suddenly becomes lighter. Looking, he finds Gusto carrying the other side of the mattress.

  It takes them about an hour to clear all the mattresses from the room, leaving only rusted frames. Gusto walks up to one of them, presses down on the top bar, and the whole frame collapses inward.

  “What are you doing?” Danzo asks.

  Gusto crouches at the pile of rusted metal as he scratches his chin, answering, “These are no good. They are old, rusted, and broken. We'll have to go and request new bed frames.”

  Danzo stares at the pile of scrap and replies, “Agreed. Do you know who the division secretary is?”

  “Hmm– they didn't say, did they?” Gusto answers with another question.

  Remembering the half-hearted greeting earlier, Danzo sighs, “We'll have to find out for ourselves.”

  Still unfamiliar with the camp, Danzo takes his med kit and keepsakes with him. They walk toward the command center and stop at its large doors–the doors just slightly taller than Gusto. No guards are posted outside, so they enter on their own.

  They enter the main hallway, with a giant emblem in the center. The emblem is poorly maintained; the shining luster it has long since faded. The building reeks of food and alcohol, something Danzo will have to get used to for the time being. The room is unevenly lit because of dead light bulbs no one cares to replace, dulling the prestige the black marble walls, streaked with thin white lines, try to exude.

  Behind the receptionist's desk, a familiar face is sleeping peacefully. It is the soldier he met when registering for the Slayers. The two approach him as he is busy letting out an obnoxious snore.

  Danzo, feeling a sharp burn in his chest, says, “Hey. Wake up!”

  Like before, the soldier is still asleep.

  Gusto reaches over the table and lightly taps his shoulder. After a few moments, the man wakes up in a daze, “Hm– party time already?” He looks in front of him and notices Danzo and Gusto. He gives a slimy smile as he sits up, “The fresh blood! Welcome! Welcome! I'm guessing Sterling already gave you the tour of the Tower!”

  “The Tower?” Gusto repeats.

  He makes a circle with his finger and points upward, “This place.” He eyes them up and down. “Where are your uniforms?”

  “We didn't get any,” Danzo replies.

  “Oh–a moment,” the soldier stands and walks to a room by the far right of the desk, leaving his jacket hanging in the spinning chair. While they wait, Danzo notices the name tag on the jacket. The soldier's name is Brutus.

  After a few minutes, Brutus returns with a stack of uniforms in various sizes and places them carelessly on the table. “Forgot to ask for your sizes. Feel free to take the ones that fit you.” The two dig through the pile of uniforms. The bags are still sealed, and from the last delivery date listed on some of them, it seems that they haven't received a delivery of new ones in a while.

  Gusto is the first to find his size, while Danzo remains focused on searching for his. While he is busy, Gusto asks, “We also wanted to find out who we speak to if we need new bed frames and mattresses. The ones we have are broken and damaged.”

  Brutus scratches his messy hair before answering. “Hm– it's been a while since we ordered anything. Maybe check with the other divisions to see if they have anything to spare.”

  “Thank you. We will be going then.” As they finish, Danzo finds a set of uniforms his size and packs them into his bag.

  “Wait, handle it tomorrow. For now, relax and enjoy the welcome feast,” Brutus says before they leave.

  Gusto shoots a worried glance at Danzo, unsure what to say to the offer. Without hesitation, Danzo answers, “No, thank you. We need to sort this out before nightfall.”

  Danzo walks out after answering. Gusto awkwardly gives a slight bow of respect before following him.

  Trying to keep up with Danzo, Gusto asks, “Are you sure it's fine alienating ourselves like this? They'll start to think we don't like them.”

  “I'm not sure about you, but I don't,” Danzo answers as he steps into the tent and begins changing into uniform.

  “Why are you changing?”

  Danzo takes off his pants and puts on the ones provided by the military, unbothered by Gusto's presence. “It is expected of us to be in our uniform, regardless of whether we are on the field or not.”

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  Following his lead, Gusto begins changing as well. “I suppose, but does it matter? You saw how the other soldiers looked at us. Our image is already tainted.”

  “It doesn't mean we can't change it. We are defined by our actions and those we associate with. Control what you can and tolerate what you can't.”

  “Mirkolu?” Gusto asks, referencing a philosopher unknown to Danzo.

  “No, Vito. My teacher.” Danzo buttons his jacket and straightens his cap. He picks up his bags and waits outside the tent for Gusto.

  While waiting, he takes another look at the surroundings. The vacant and poorly maintained tents suggest that no one has lived in them for quite some time. The broken bottles on the floor could be a result of their frequent partying. He looks at the Tower and watches the windows. From the curtains and hanging clothes, the command center is where the soldiers have been residing for some time now. The faint echoing of a song from the Tower may explain the stench of alcohol. What makes it more sickening is the smell mixing with the damp odour coming from the tents.

  Gusto exits the tent in his uniform; It is not as neat as Danzo’s, but it will suffice for now. At the entrance to the sector, the truck that transported them there returned to base. Seeing no alternative, the two walk to the main area of the base.

  The walk is more relaxing than he expected. His nose welcomes the smell of the fresh breeze, overcoming the stench at the Roost. He wonders why the Roost is far away from the main base. The Slayers' shenanigans could have continued to create issues. Maybe there were plans to expand the Slayers' base. Or, possibly, and most likely, the Slayers keep interfering, lowering morale, and are overall a sore sight.

  “Do you think they are willing to give us new beds?” Gusto asks, interrupting Danzo’s train of thought.

  “Hm– I don’t know. But we should try.” Danzo looks at the airstrip, impressed by the Line Army’s artillery. He watches in the distance as a jet gets ready to take off, stopping to witness its ascent. Gusto, noticing Danzo stopping, joins him.

  “Do you think the monsters have finally achieved flight?” Danzo asks, worried for the Howells.

  Gusto peeks at him before returning to the jet. “There have been sightings as of late.”

  “Then I will need to rush the timeline,” Danzo says, a weird tension welling in his body.

  The signal man clears the jet for takeoff. After final checks, the pilot eases it forward onto the runway. For a brief moment, the engines hum steadily– after a few seconds, they erupt. The jet surges ahead, gathering speed until it blurs past and cleanly lifts into the sky. It remains in view for only a few seconds before fading into the clouds, the roar of its engines echoing across the field.

  The two stand there for a couple of seconds, absorbing the grace and power they witnessed. Danzo feels a strange surge of inspiration, revitalised after the state of the Slayers.

  Once they are satisfied, they continue toward the main base. Gusto is unable to stop speaking about the jets, elated by the creations of the R&S division, and wishing to move there.

  Arriving at the gate, they are stopped by two guardsmen, controlling access to the main base. The guardsman on the left is bald and has a black mustache. His eyes are sharp as his blue eyes scan them, looking for any signs of trouble. His uniform is barely able to contain his muscles. The name on his uniform is Alexander Ognyova. The right guardsman has a similar stature to his comrade on the right, but only differs in that he has a healthy head of brown hair and is smiling. His name tag read Oliver Williams. From the Black uniform with red stripes, they are from the Claw division.

  “Please present your identification and state your reason for passing into Claw division sector gamma,” Alexander says, as if rehearsed.

  The two take out their identification cards, and Danzo answers, “We are here to inquire about receiving new beds and bed frames.”

  Alexander studies the cards closely before handing them back, “Do you not have a division secretary by your base, Danzo?”

  “Doubt it. And even if we did, I doubt we have frames and mattresses in stock,” Danzo answers, his eyes unwavering.

  “Maybe we can pass them to our secretary, Alex? We do have a surplus of supplies,” Oliver says, trying to help them.

  “Don’t be naive, Oliver. Supplies are allocated based on merit, not pity,” Alexander said, his eyes narrowing as they focused on Danzo. “Your division has neither.”

  “I refuse to go deeper into that hellhole seeking help,” Danzo answers.

  “Danzo, be careful of what you say,” Gusto whispers concerningly.

  Alexander's eyebrows jump in surprise at the answer. He smiles and replies, “Heh, interesting. Then why don’t you move over to R&S if you refuse help from that ‘hellhole’?”

  “I have my reasons,” Danzo coldly replies.

  Alexander smirks. “I’ll escort you myself. Oliver, if I’m not back in twenty, you know the drill.”

  “Understood,” Oliver said.

  The two salute each other before Alexander escorts Danzo and Gusto.

  Compared to the Roost, the Claws sector is better maintained. The smell of alcohol is absent, instead filled by the dust from the moving soldiers and gunpowder. The soldiers that they pass are wearing their uniform with pride and are busy. Either training, heading out, preparing to head out, or returning. Danzo could only hear fragments of passing conversation, often drowned out by footsteps or wind.

  Gusto leans close to Danzo and whispers, “When we speak to them, please be careful of your words. I may understand you, and Alexander is fine, but we don't know how word travels around here.”

  “Noted. I'll be careful,” Danzo replies, doing little to assuage Gusto's worries.

  Two guardsmen are stationed outside the Claws Command center, A tall building also known as The Den. Alexander flashes his identification and states, “They are going to see Kira.” The soldiers salute him as they walk by. From how young they look, Danzo could tell the guardsmen are recruits.

  Danzo and Gusto look around the interior as they follow Alexander. The grey marble walls are decorated with portraits of notable Claw personnel, each striking a powerful pose. The emblem of the Claw division is proudly worn on their right breast.

  At the end of the hallway sits a bored-looking man, leaning on his elbow. His grey, swept-back hair is complemented by his red eyes, something Danzo has never seen before. His bored demeanour is undercut by the scar on his left cheek. From his stature, he is a similar size to Danzo, possibly shorter.

  Alexander stops and turns to Danzo and Gusto, “This is the Claw division secretary and second captain, Kira Daragoneir.”