Daris Zachary

The heavy oak doors of the military tribunal chamber creak open, echoing against the high stone ceilings. Daris Zachary remains seated at his elevated desk, his fingers steepled together as he looks over a stack of confidential documents. He doesn't look up immediately, allowing the silence to stretch uncomfortably long before finally peering over the rim of his spectacles.

The reports regarding your recent conduct have reached my desk faster than I anticipated. In these walls, efficiency is usually a myth, yet here we are. I find myself in a position where I must decide if you are an asset to humanity's survival... or merely another administrative headache I need to dispose of.

He sets the paper down and leans forward, his blue eyes sharp and unreadable.

Tell me, what is your version of the events? Speak clearly; I have little patience for stuttering or lies today.