The next morning—well, noon—Elias nudged his office door open with the tip of his boot. He'd spent the night in a cheap hotel near the station, an experience he mentally filed under "torture by flat pillow." He was hoping to find his usual sanctuary: the comforting smell of dust and stale coffee, the organized chaos, the armchair that tilted just right for an optimal nap.
He froze in the doorway, blinking.
The room smelled of lemon and clean wood. The dust motes dancing in the sunbeams had been ruthlessly swept away. The anarchic piles of paperwork were gone. In their place, a plain metal shelf held neatly labeled binders. His desk, stripped of its old patina of mugs and cold ashes, was bare, polished, almost hostile.
At the center of this betrayal, Mara O'Connell was standing on a small ladder, hanging a frame on the wall. The frame contained, instead of artwork, a company org chart. In color.
"You're decorating now?" Elias growled, kicking the door shut behind him. "I was sincerely hoping I'd never have to see your face again. Especially in my personal space."
Mara didn't turn. She tapped the frame to straighten it. "Your personal space is an official Jaeger work area. The Association's health inspection had condemned it for two years. I took care of it."
Elias stepped forward, skirting the new piece of furniture—'a fucking couch?'—and collapsed into his armchair. It felt like sinking into a cloud. The back didn't tilt anymore. He sat up straight.
"What did you do to my chair?"
"I replaced it. The old one was threatening mutiny against your spine."
He watched Mara climb down the ladder. She was wearing clean combat pants and a company-colored t-shirt, her vice-captain vest tossed over the new couch.
He yanked open a random drawer. Empty, clean, smelling of disinfectant. He slammed it shut.
"You know, in some circles, this kind of intrusion gets settled with fists."
She folded the ladder and stowed it in a corner Elias would never have called a "storage spot." "In others, inaction in the face of proven health and safety risks counts as criminal negligence. Your call."
He watched her finish up, filing the last stack of papers on the shelf. He settled in to lounge, hands crossed over his stomach, observing her like someone watching a strange animal at the zoo.
After a long silence, broken only by the rustle of pages, she spoke without looking at him, eyes on her inventory.
"I need your signature to approve the equipment storage remodel and order the new portable detectors. The quote's on your desk."
Elias slowly turned his head to the desk. A single folder sat there, with a yellow Post-it arrow pointing to the signature line. He stared at it.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let out a long snore.
Mara stopped dead. She turned to him.
Elias, eyes still shut, added a little nasal whistle for realism.
He heard the soft sound of her boots on the freshly waxed floor. She approached the desk. He braced for the storm, the lecture, something.
The scratch of a pen.
He cracked one eye open. She was leaning over the folder, signing in firm strokes in his place. She stamped it with her own "Vice-Captain" seal, sharp and decisive.
"Article 7-12 of operational regulations authorizes the vice-captain to commit urgent expenditures for critical equipment maintenance in the absence of a contrary decision from the captain, declared and motivated in writing," she recited in a flat voice. She finally looked up at him. "Your simulated nap is interpreted as an absence of motivated decision. I'm acting accordingly."
She closed the folder, tucked it under her arm, grabbed her vest, and headed for the door.
"You're signing my papers now? Cute. You gonna spoon-feed me next?"
"Only if you regress to infancy, Captain. For now, you're just at pathological adolescence."
She left and closed the door softly.
Elias sat alone in his clean, quiet office. He eyed the couch. He eyed the org chart. He eyed his ergonomic armchair that didn't tilt.
He finally shrugged, stood, and went to test the couch.
It was incredibly comfortable.
'Damn...'
—
The next day, Elias was mastering the art of the upright nap on said couch when a soft but insistent alarm chimed from his terminal.
He opened one eye, groaned, and grabbed the tablet on the new wooden coffee table ('really, she'd gone too far').
The screen showed a sector map with a blinking red dot in the southern districts: /Rift – Class D (probable). Energy rising. Civilian population: 1036. Standard response time: 17 minutes./
He yawned, stretched, and dragged himself to the command room.
The command room was controlled chaos.
Screens everywhere. Holographic maps projected on the walls. Technicians bustling at consoles, talking into mics, typing furiously.
Mara was already there.
Standing in front of the main screen, tablet in hand, coordinating with natural authority.
"Visual confirmation?" she barked.
"Confirmed, Vice-Captain," a technician replied. "Active rift. Sector 7-Delta. Riverside mall. Civilians evacuating."
Elias approached. "Report."
Mara turned to him.
"Rift detected seven minutes ago," she said efficiently. "Sector 7-Delta, Riverside shopping center. Early detection thanks to the new sensors installed yesterday. Evacuation underway. No casualties yet."
She swiped her finger on the tablet. The screen pulled up a detailed map.
"Estimated class: D. Twelve Nemeses detected. Likely type: Crawlers. Low mobility, but corrosive. The mall has metal structures. If we give them too much time—"
"It'll melt," Elias finished. He scratched his neck. "Class D."
"Yes, Captain."
He looked at her. She held his gaze.
"No need for me to step in," he said finally.
A few heads turned.
"Briggs!"
The man emerged from a side console.
"Cap'."
"Round up two or three guys. Handle it. Mercer style."
Briggs nodded. "Torin and Saito?"
"Perfect. Take Finn too."
Briggs raised an eyebrow. "The rookie?"
"Yeah."
"Got it. We're on it."
He turned, already talking into his communicator.
Elias turned to Mara. She hadn't moved.
"Nothing to say?" he asked.
"No, Captain."
"Really? No comment on protocol? On sending a rookie into the field? On the need for a formal briefing?"
She met his eyes. "You made your call. It's your company."
"And if I screw up?"
"Then I'll fill out the incident forms." She paused. "But you don't screw up. Not in the field."
Elias blinked.
"I'm just waiting on the reports, Captain," she continued. "And I hope they'll be legible."
Elias frowned. "I have a feeling you're gonna be a pain in my ass."