Nicholas Pov
"Welcome," one of the soldiers, whose name tag read 'Lieutenant Austin', greeted warmly. He's a redheaded man with porcelain skin that contrasts beautifully with the vibrant hues of his hair. He returned my IDs, which had been used for the security screening, with a polite nod and a reassuring smile. We made our way through the dimly lit armory, the air thick with the metallic tang of rifles and the scent of gun oil. We passed a group of soldiers busily issuing weapons and their assorted gear. The sound of clanking armor and the gentle rustle of uniforms added a lively scenery to the air around us.
"Follow me!" Austin says as he guides me to the Ops room. Because of my former position, I was still granted partial access to ops data. It. was the same last time I was there, but with a few upgrades. When we stepped inside, I noticed the screen displaying important information, including images and an update on Carson, which highlighted his last known location.
