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>‘Yes, sir.’ (On your feet)
You’re not given enough of an opportunity to appreciate your new uniform.
The reveal of your actual location has you almost gasping in disbelief.
‘It’s a little bit overdue, but … welcome to Outpost Martha.’
A buggy rolls past you as you try to take in the sight. You could see six interconnected (seven, if you included the one that you were currently on), platforms, raised above the seas on hexagonal struts in a contrast of green and gray, each of the flats occupied a myriad of personnel, items, vehicles and machinery. One platform, you notice, even had a collection of shipping containers and a large, towering crane. Towers, helipads, stairwells, administrative structures … they were all within view from where you stood, each of them common to every strut that made the greater structure of the outpost. There is nothing else within view for miles, at least from where you stand. Each of the platforms were connected by a bridge, although not all of them appeared to be commonly connected. The facility—the outpost itself—is massive, titanic even; while not quite the total size of Azur Lane’s headquarters, the latter could at least boast being on the very shoulder of a bloody island, but you see at least a mile and some change worth of man-made structure. That wasn’t even counting the small dock down below between the two furthest platforms … or those two platforms on opposite sides of the structure that appeared to have a little extra to them jutting down the side.
The sea breeze tickles your nose. You rotate yourself, trying to make sense of your new surroundings, but aren’t given the opportunity to do that, either, as Tague’s footsteps immediately bring you back to reality and you follow him back inside and through another corridor, shuffling past personnel that are too concentrated on their notepads and PDAs to bother looking up and avoiding your party. Formidable and Belfast follow behind you, their expressions as stoic as soldiers can bear; you go through a wealth of corridors and open-air, metal stairwells, the sound of the waves and the smell of the sea wafting over you as you follow behind the still-silent Tague, who had not said a word since your—
‘I’m sure you’ve got a bunch of things on your mind,’ Tague starts again as you make your way down a flight of metal steps—from which you’re able to spy a set of engineers at work, hanging from their harnesses and peering from ceiling holes, mending the underside of the platform with a set of fabrication tools—and onto a steadier, wider platform with a straight shot to the bridge. ‘Don’t think I’m the best person for you to ask, though. The last two weeks have popped up more questions than answers.’
He pauses for a moment as you continue your journey.
‘But if you really need some answers …’
>‘Not at the moment, sir.’ (Progress)
>'Well ...' (Ask)
>Write-In
