[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/PosaXRV.png[/img][/center] MAX FIRE was the first, and last, line of defense for all humanity against the monsters that had risen up against it. Its founder had the ear of every leader in the world, no piece of equipment was too expensive, no material too sensitive for his use if he decreed that it was needed. But it was still fundamentally a civilian organization, albeit a paramilitary one, and that meant that its workers required certain amenities. For their comfort. Personal living quarters, recreational activities, fresh food. And most importantly, [i]fresh coffee[/i]. Not necessarily good coffee. If you wanted [i]good[/i] coffee, you needed to head over to the real sciency parts of the enormous complex. In the 24/7 standby parts of the fortress, housing Promethion's pilots, mechanics, and other support staff, the [i]presence[/i] of coffee was more important than its [i]quality[/i]. In other words, you learned to like the powdered creamer if it was there, and drink your black mud anyway if it wasn't. If you couldn't stand a spoon straight up in it, it isn't fresh anymore. Make a new pot. But it meant that Hazel Ada Stoll could roll out of her bed, pull on some clothes, and walk down the hall to get a cup of coffee in the morning. Most people weren't up yet, so Hazel could make her way to the break lounge in sweatpants and a t-shirt largely unimpeded. The headphones hanging around her neck, their cord trailing down to the Walkman clipped at her waist, blared their soundtrack faintly. She only had them off of her ears to listen for the hourly announcements, in case there was something she needed to know. Otherwise her responsibilities for the day were pretty clearcut. But that'd wait until after coffee. The night dispatcher was already in the lounge, presumably just clocking out of his shift. She gave Hazel a nod over her paper, but otherwise didn't say anything. Neither did Hazel. [color=a0410d]Ha ha. [i][/i][/color] She signed quickly, offhandedly. Her coworker'd get the sentiment, if not the message. Hazel wasn't completely certain of her name, but she saw the night dispatcher a bunch. As one of Promethion's more nocturnal pilots, she was pretty familiar with the night support staff by sight. The Commander probably knew their names. Hazel might, if she really thought about it. But frankly, she hadn't had coffee yet. She was firing on a single cylinder. It wasn't high on the priority list. So she poured her own cup of mud (no creamer at all this morning, she noted, she'd have to put in a supply request) and sat down at one of the little tables. The taste, as much as anything, helped her wake up. One hand ran through her hair, helping to at least tame it a little, and the other slipped her glasses onto her face. Then she settled into her routine. Read her notes, sip coffee, read, sip, read, sip, read, sip. Nothing too eventful was on the docket today. Some pilot drills. There were a couple of things she wanted to go over with the mechanics. The biggest issue on her list was the supply shipments coming in. As a consultant, it was up to her to double check security policies and practices regularly. Whether or not any of the bureaucrats at the top [color=a0410d][i]listened[/i][/color] wasn't her problem, she just had to [i]advise[/i]. End of the world and people still wanted to steal things. ... [color=a0410d]Maybe pointing that out was a little hypocritical.[/color] She took another long sip from her mug and sighed. Today actually looked really boring. Maybe she'd finally get around to bringing some of the authentication protocol updates she'd been thinking about up with the boss. In the meantime, she settled in and decided to do a little people watching. Never knew who'd come through that door in search of an early cup of coffee, no matter how shitty it was. Here in Vaucanson's nerve center, adjacent to the core personnel quarters, hangar, and command center alike, you never knew who'd stop by.