Elias, in a rumpled military uniform, slumped against the velvet bench seat, staring without enthusiasm at the passing scenery.
Fields. Trees. Green in every form, meaningless and repetitive.
Across from him, Mara turned the pages of a file.
"I'm already regretting this," Elias muttered to no one in particular.
Mara didn't bother looking up. "You've been regretting it since you took the job. Nothing new."
Elias let his head slide back against the seat.
"Why do urgent meetings even exist?" he grumbled. "And we're not in the Middle Ages anymore—video calls are a thing..."
Mara held out the document she'd been working on. "This is a report on weapon supplies. You'll read it."
Elias closed his eyes, indulging in the fantasy of the file spontaneously combusting. Flames licking the margins, turning the columns of numbers and tedious inventories to ash.
'A nice dream.'
"You want to be captain?"
Her pen stopped moving.
"If I could, I would have."
A hollow laugh escaped Elias, raspy with fatigue. "Ah yes, the rules. The titles. The procedures. That's what's holding you back?"
She resumed writing. "No. It's the fact that you're, against all logic, indispensable."
He stretched then, with calculated slowness, exaggerating every movement so she'd fully appreciate the depth of his boredom. "Then quit."
"You quit."
"Impossible."
"Exactly. So stop whining."
The train let out a shrill whistle that drowned his groan.
Elias lowered the window, letting in a gust of wind. Mara coughed, annoyed. He flashed a crooked smile.
'Serves her right.'
"You could at least pretend to be interested," Mara said, closing her file.
He pointed a lazy finger in her direction. "Pretending is lying. And lying is wrong."
She packed her things one by one, methodical.
"Why me?" he murmured, half-serious.
Mara stood, adjusting her wrinkle-free jacket. "Because fate has a sense of humor. And it loves contrasts."
She walked off down the aisle without a backward glance.
He stayed there, half-buried in the velvet.
The weapons file sat beside him. He nudged it with his elbow. The document slid and fell under the seat.
'Problem solved. Well... until later.'
The journey ended at the military station of Division 7 HQ.
Elias stepped off the train dragging his boots, shoulders hunched as if the air itself weighed a ton. Ahead of him, Mara walked three paces in front.
"You could at least try to look like a captain," she tossed over her shoulder without slowing.
He yawned, stretching his arms overhead. "I tried once. Gave me hives."
She spun abruptly, and he nearly crashed into her. "You're already here. So stop complaining and move."
Elias glanced around.
The platform was wide—too wide—designed to swallow entire regiments without ever feeling crowded. Dark gray slabs striped with regulation yellow lines.
Above them, armored glass roofing. Metal panels displayed perfectly on-time schedules, punctuated by terse messages: Logistics unit arrival, Delta convoy departure, Restricted access—level 3 clearance minimum.
At the platform's end, two armored trains waited, massive and plated with reinforced steel. Armed sentries stood guard at every door, motionless, almost decorative—if you ignored the very real rifles they held.
Elias inhaled slowly.
He ran a hand through his hair, already tousled from the trip.
"Charming," he muttered.
Mara didn't turn. She headed for the platform exit, where heavy automatic doors bearing the Division 7 emblem opened and closed with a hydraulic hiss.
Elias followed, casting one last look behind him.
A giant clock read 7 AM. He pointed an accusing finger at it.
"If we miss the meeting, it's her fault. She never stops moving forward."
Mara sighed, grabbed his sleeve, and yanked him toward the exit. He let himself be dragged, passive like a chatty sack of potatoes.
"You're not escaping," she stated, more to convince herself than warn him.
"Sharp observation. I've given up escaping. Now I just... slow things down."
A group of agents caught up. One opened his mouth to greet them, but the vice-captain shot him a look that silenced him instantly. The captain gave the poor guy a conspiratorial wink. The man blushed, flustered.
Outside, a vehicle waited. The driver, a guy with a scar on his cheek, nodded in their direction.
"Magnificent," Elias murmured. "Looks like I won't have to walk."
Mara ignored him, climbing in. Elias stood there, eyeing the vehicle.
"Captain, get in."
He climbed in reluctantly, flopping onto the leather bench. She sat across from him, back straight, hands on her knees in perfect posture.
The vehicle started.
"Did you read the file?"
Elias rummaged in his pockets, pulling out a dirty handkerchief, a coin, and a bit of string. "I've got a collection. Does that count?"
Mara closed her eyes. "You're insufferable."
"And yet, you're still here."
The vehicle hit a pothole, and he took the opportunity to slide to the floor, stretching out between the seats. "I could stay down here. No one would notice the difference."
Mara planted a foot on his chest—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to stake her claim. "If I were you, I'd get up before someone sees you."
Elias laughed, arms spread in a mock crucifixion. "If I were you, I'd die of boredom."
The vehicle slowed at an ornate iron gate topped with black flags bearing the wolf emblem—the symbol of the 7th Division. Guards checked passengers.
Mara handed over their papers.
Elias finally sat up, staring at the headquarters looming in the distance.
"What if we told them I'm dead?"
Mara didn't answer. But she smiled—barely, but it was there.
The vehicle passed through the gate.
Elias sank into the seat, resigned to playing his part.
For a few hours, at least.
After that...
'After that, I'll find a couch to collapse on.'
The vehicle stopped with a screech of brakes that rattled the body. Elias half-closed his eyes, already pretending to snore.
Mara opened the door. "Captain, we've arrived."
She stepped out, adjusting her gloves. Elias stayed slumped, one arm dangling out of the vehicle.
"Is he ill?" asked an employee, hesitating between concern and disbelief.
Mara leaned in to survey the scene, one eyebrow raised. "Hard to say. Maybe we should take him to the infirmary. To check."
Elias let out a theatrical groan, eyelids shut. "The infirmary has comfortable beds. Good idea."
Mara sighed. "Captain, get up. Now."
He turned his head toward her, one eye cracked open. "You know my stance on orders. They're like vegetables: I ignore them with elegance."
Mara crossed her arms. "You're losing face."
"I never found it in the first place." He finally sat up, hair a mess, uniform wrinkled.
Mara grabbed his arm and hauled him out with surprising strength. He stumbled, nearly sprawling on the ground in a fall that would have sealed his reputation for the day.
"Respect your rank, at least," she muttered through gritted teeth.
He leaned against the vehicle, eyeing the headquarters towering before them.
A sigh escaped him. The place was impressive, sure, but mostly exhausting to look at.
"My rank's a concept. Like honor. Or matching socks."
The employee, apparently their escort, cleared his throat, caught in awkwardness he didn't know how to dispel.
"The commander is waiting, sir, ma'am."
Elias turned to Mara. "Go on. Tell them I got eaten by a Class S Nemesis."
She shoved a file at him. "If I had that luck, believe me, I wouldn't waste it."
He let it drop. The document landed in the dust.
"Accident," he declared with a crooked smile.
She bent to pick it up without a word and slapped it against his chest harder than necessary. "You're pathetic. I'd just print another."
"And you're predictable."
Their eyes met.
Elias took the file, exaggerating a shudder of disgust. "If I die of boredom, I'll haunt you."
Mara flashed a smile—almost invisible. "I'd install automatic doors at the company."
He shuffled off toward the headquarters entrance, shoulders slumped, the file dangling. The escort murmured to Mara: "How do you manage him?"
"I ask myself the same thing."
Elias raised a middle finger in the air without turning. "I hear everything!"