A full day's Attire

He turned to see a man striding toward him, his uniform immaculate and tailored perfectly to his lean but sturdy frame. The silver streaks in his hair caught the light, and his piercing gray eyes locked onto Elias with a mixture of curiosity and formality.

The man came to a halt just a few paces away, his posture as crisp as his uniform. "What are you doing here, sir?" His voice was steady and authoritative, yet not unkind. "Did the bus driver drop someone at the wrong location again?"

Elias adjusted his grip on his bag, standing a little straighter. "Hello, sir. My name is Elias. It's a bit of a long story, but I was invited to meet with Geras." He reached into his pocket and produced the ticket. "This was given to me by him."

The man stepped forward, taking the ticket without hesitation. His eyes scanned it carefully, his expression never wavering. After a beat, he folded the paper and handed it back.

"This is definitely from Warden Geras," he said, his tone clipped but professional. "But it's a training ticket for the Officer Academy. You'll have an audience with him only after completing the standard preparatory requirements."

Elias stiffened, the reality of what that meant sinking in. Images of endless push-ups, laps, and drills flooded his mind, sending a faint chill through him. He exhaled slowly, muttering under his breath, "I guess that makes sense."

The man's gaze lingered on him, sharp and assessing. "My name is Lieutenant Oliver. I'll see to it that you're properly prepared to meet the Warden. And the first step…" He gestured toward Elias's hair with a faint frown. "...is fixing that disaster on your head. If you're going to wear it long, it needs to reflect the military's standards of perfection. Follow me."

Elias blinked, caught off guard, but nodded, falling in step behind the Lieutenant as they headed toward the gilded doors.

Oliver pulled out a sleek communication device, its polished metal surface catching the light as he activated it. He scrolled through the interface with practiced ease before selecting a contact. Holding the device to his ear, he waited a beat before a firm voice answered on the other end.

"Commander Exaizer speaking. What is it, Oliver?"

"Commander, I have a civilian here with a signed ticket for an audience with Warden Commander Geras," Oliver began, his tone measured. "He arrived with the convoy that was attacked en route."

Exaizer's voice remained steady. "Understood. Bring him to me immediately. I've been briefed on the situation."

Oliver hesitated briefly. "Sir, with all due respect, he's not in proper condition. His appearance is disheveled, and he's... clearly not from a military background. I'd recommend some preparation before—"

"No time for that, Oliver," Exaizer interrupted. "Get him cleaned up, but skip the theatrics. I want him in my office within the hour."

Oliver's jaw tightened slightly. "Understood, Commander. I'll handle it." He ended the call with a tap and slid the device back into his pocket, turning his attention to Elias.

"You're fortunate the Commander isn't interested in my usual process," Oliver said, his tone firm but not unkind. "We'll get you cleaned up and ready to meet Warden Commander Geras. What's your name?"

"Elias Kael," he replied. "I'm, uh... not military. I'm actually a chef back in Covaign."

Oliver raised an eyebrow, his expression briefly thoughtful. "That explains a lot. No formal training, then. All right, let's move. First stop: the grooming station. If you're going to stand before Geras, you'll at least look the part."

Elias sighed and muttered under his breath, "I should've just run when I had the chance." From his chest, Dot's tiny, amused giggle echoed faintly.

The pair left the bus and stepped onto the bustling base grounds. The scent of fuel and freshly cut metal mingled in the air as they wove through pathways lined with towering buildings, each bearing the insignia of various divisions. Recruits jogged past in unison, their movements perfectly synchronized under the watchful eyes of drill officers. Nearby, engineers fine-tuned exoskeletal suits, the hiss of hydraulics punctuating the hum of machinery.

Elias followed closely behind Oliver, his gaze darting to training yards where soldiers sparred with energy-infused weapons. Sparks flew as blades clashed, their movements precise and relentless. He passed a towering obstacle course, its warped walls and moving platforms teeming with recruits in varying stages of struggle. The sheer scale of activity left him momentarily overwhelmed.

They reached the entrance of a low, sturdy building with a sign that read Grooming and Uniform Standards. Inside, the room buzzed with activity. Barbers worked at lightning speed, trimming and shaping hair while bantering with their clients. Recruits and veterans alike waited in orderly rows, their postures relaxed but alert.

Oliver approached the front of the line, his presence immediately drawing attention. "Step aside," he said evenly, addressing a group of recruits. "This one has priority clearance from Warden Commander Geras."

The recruits exchanged glances but complied, stepping back with murmured comments. Elias moved forward hesitantly, slipping into the chair as the barber adjusted the headrest.

"Let's get you looking respectable," the barber said, running his hand through Elias's hair with a critical eye. "Commander Geras doesn't strike me as someone who tolerates sloppiness."

The clippers hummed to a stop, and the barber leaned back, inspecting his work with a satisfied nod. "Perfect. That's about as presentable as you'll get without a full spa day. With a jawline like that, though, a bit of polish and some regular exercise, and you'll be good to go. You almost remind me of someone I've seen before…"

Elias opened his mouth to respond, but Oliver stepped forward briskly. "Maybe next time we can chat about doppelgängers, but we're on a schedule."

The barber raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fair enough. Off you go, then. Good luck, man."

Elias gave a polite nod. "Thanks. Feels great to get all the grime and gravel out of my hair for once. You've done wonders."

The barber grinned. "Try to keep it that way. Take care."

Oliver motioned Elias toward the adjacent room. "Come on. Next stop, fitting."

They entered a smaller building where racks of neatly arranged uniforms lined the walls. Elias was measured quickly by a no-nonsense attendant, who handed him a green jacket and pants, accompanied by a brown tie. The fabric was immaculate, the stitching precise, and it fit perfectly as Elias slipped into the attire.

The attendant grabbed a bottle of spray and worked a comb through Elias's freshly cut hair, adding a sharp, clean finish. The subtle scent of the spray lingered as Elias caught his reflection in a polished mirror.

"Green and brown?" Elias muttered, adjusting his tie. "I've got to admit, it's been years, but maybe I do clean up well."

Oliver smirked, straightening the lapels of his own jacket. "You're lucky I'm the one who got you. Anyone else might've thrown you into the general lineup. Now, move it. We need to be 15 minutes early."

Elias nodded, hefting his bag and following Oliver out of the fitting room.

The base was alive with motion as they walked along a wide paved pathway.

 On one side, recruits sparred in open training areas, their movements sharp and focused under the watchful eyes of instructors.

The clang of blades meeting resonated against the hum of nearby machinery.

On the other, teams worked on armored vehicles, their exteriors gleaming under industrial lights. Engineers called out to one another as sparks flew from welding tools.

Elias caught a glimpse of a towering exoskeleton frame as a soldier climbed into it, the machine responding fluidly to their movements.

"This place hasn't changed much," Elias muttered.

Oliver glanced at him. "Been here before?"

"Not this specific base," Elias admitted. "But the atmosphere is familiar."

Dot's voice chimed in softly from within. "Familiar? That's one way to put it. Your thoughts are surprisingly nostalgic."

Elias frowned. "Stay out of my head, Dot's."

She giggled faintly. "I was just saying…"

They reached the building, a sleek, rectangular structure with tinted windows reflecting the overcast sky. Inside, the sound of boots on polished floors echoed faintly as they stepped into the elevator. Oliver pressed the button for the fifth floor, and the ride was silent except for the quiet ding of their ascent.

The doors slid open to reveal a pristine office space. A woman in a sharp uniform sat behind a desk, typing rapidly on a sleek holographic display. Her glasses glinted under the overhead lights as she looked up, her gaze narrowing slightly at Elias.

"What can I do for you?" she asked briskly.

Oliver stepped forward. "I've brought the individual Warden Commander Geras requested. He arrived courtesy of Old Mikey."

She raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead and pass his pap—wait." She frowned, taking in Elias's attire. "What is he wearing?"

Oliver held his ground. "The Alpha uniform. It's standard for meetings with higher-ups. Anything else would—"

"He's not military," she cut him off. "You can't just—"