Useful Superior

"Sergeant, sir—we came to get the files for submission," Dustin said, ignoring the man's earlier jab at Balair.

"Oh, that. It should be somewhere here. They dropped it off recently, so it should still be on the surface," the sergeant replied, lazily gesturing at the chaotic pile of files in front of him.

Unfortunately, the room was too dim for them to see where he was pointing.

"Sir, forgive me for being blunt, but we can't see a thing," Dustin added, stating the obvious.

A brief silence followed, broken only by the soft hum of the Temperature Regulator (TR). Then Sergeant Hansen let out a long, drawn-out sigh. A quiet click sounded as the lights flicked on, illuminating the room.

"Finish quickly and get out," Hansen muttered, reclining in his chair and waving them off dismissively. He grabbed a pair of shades from his desk and slipped them on as if the light was too much for his sleepy eyes.

"Yes, Sergeant," both boys responded in unison, immediately getting to work.

Dustin blinked in disbelief at the sight now revealed under full lighting. The office looked less like a workplace and more like a document graveyard. Stacks upon stacks of files were crammed into every visible corner—some leaning, some toppling, others buried halfway under dust-covered folders. While searching, Dustin picked up one of the many dusty files and glanced at the date:

Platoon Six

Date: 11/6/2225

Nine years ago!? he jerked back slightly, stunned. These were files meant to be submitted right after the first recruitment wave of that year these files weren't just old--but in bureaucratic terms ancient! That meant... none of the platoons under this man were properly documented?

He stared at the file in disbelief, his eyes darting to the sergeant now dozing peacefully in his chair.

A walking sin of laziness, Dustin thought bitterly, shaking his head. He continued looking around, only to find even more disturbing signs: neatly completed platoon activity reports, all properly filled out… and all just sitting here, collecting dust, never filed or uploaded to the database.

How does this man still have a job? he wondered, more bewildered with every passing second.

He turned, only to meet Balair's equally stunned expression. The boy was holding up two files, pointing at their dates, his mouth agape in pure disbelief. Dustin closed his eyes and shook his head slowly—he didn't need to say a word. They both understood exactly what the other was thinking. Still, they had a task to finish.

After more fruitless searching, Balair suddenly stood up straight. They had been digging through files for a while now with no success. He glanced at Dustin, who was still carefully sorting the files as he worked. Then his eyes shifted to the sergeant—reclined, shades on, fast asleep again—and then back to the table overflowing with paperwork.

He squinted, letting his gaze sweep across the table until something caught his eye.

Platoon Six

Date: 11/6/2234

The white folder gleamed slightly, reflecting the light in a way that made it look like it was glowing—mocking them, almost, after all their effort. Frustration flared on Balair's face as he raised his head and glared at the sleeping sergeant.

"Dustin," he called out, not-so-quietly, snapping his friend out of his trance.

"Shhh! That was too loud—!" Dustin tried to hush him, but it was already too late. The sergeant stirred.

"Huh? You still haven't found it?" he muttered groggily, still reclined.

"Why are you searching the floor? I told you to check the table, didn't I?" he added, his speech slurring slightly.

How is this guy still in the military? That was the only thought running through both boys' minds as they looked at the half-asleep officer.

Balair didn't say a word. He just walked over and picked up the file he had spotted, Dustin's eyes widening as he recognized the very document they'd been searching for.

"Is this all of it?" Balair asked, frustration etched across his face as he approached Dustin.

"Umm... yeah, that's all of it," Dustin replied, glancing over the files Balair handed him. He barely held himself together as he stood up from where he'd been kneeling. Just one good punch—that's all I'd need, he thought, forcing a polite smile toward the Sergeant as they made their way out of the office. The lights flicked off the moment the door clicked shut behind them.

"You want to punch him too, right?" Balair asked, his voice low and tense as they walked down the plain, gray-painted hallway, passing office doors labeled with brass name tags. Veins popped along his temple as he gripped the files tightly.

"Hand those over first," Dustin said calmly, taking the documents from him.

"Yes, yes, I'd like to," Dustin added with his usual composed expression.

"Let's just get this over with and go find Torren—he should be done by now," he continued, picking up his pace. They still had to fill out the forms and submit the paperwork quickly.

---

After what felt like a full tour of the personnel building, they finally finished submitting all the required documents. In the process, they uncovered something new—and infuriating. Everything they'd just done was supposed to have been handled by their oh-so-capable platoon sergeant.

They were tired, frustrated, and still not done. They still had to address the platoon, and there was a good chunk of the day left to endure.

"Ugh… How do you think you and Torren would've fared if you two had come instead of me?" Balair groaned, brushing his messy black hair back with both hands as he stretched.

"I don't think we'd have done any better. I mean, he's still back there," Dustin replied, shielding his eyes from the harsh sun with one hand as they left the building back into the world outside. After spending hours in the cool, dim office building, the daylight felt almost offensive.

"So... we'll have to prep everything before Torren gets out," Balair sighed, dropping his hands to his sides as he trudged forward.

"Seems like it. I'll send a message out to the platoon now—save us some time. Let's head to the field first," Dustin said, already pulling out his AulWris and putting it back on his wrist. The two of them moved toward the field, their brown cadet uniforms standing out against the lush green grass stretching out ahead of them.