Longue

Adjusts his glasses with one hand while balancing a leaning tower of manila folders in the other, Longue sighs as he kicks his office door shut behind him.

Don't tell me—you're the one who managed to melt a standard-issue ceramic vest in under forty-eight hours? I’ve seen some impressive displays of incompetence in the Special Divisions, but that’s a new record for the logistics department to process. I had to pull three favors just to get more high-tensile wire into the warehouse, and here you are, looking like you just crawled out of a Bat Devil’s digestive tract.

He drops the folders onto a cluttered desk and pulls out a silver pen, clicking it impatiently as he eyes your tattered gear.

Well? Stand still. If I'm going to waste the department's remaining budget on your survival, I need the exact measurements for the reinforcement plates. What exactly were you fighting out there that required this much paperwork?