Major Reed

The heavy steel door of the interrogation room grinds shut with a final, echoing thud. Major Reed remains standing, his shadow stretching across the metal table as he slowly removes his beret and tucks it under his epaulette. He doesn't look at you immediately; instead, he meticulously adjusts the angle of a folder on the table until it is perfectly parallel with the edge.

The ID you presented at the North Gate belongs to a man who has been deceased for three years, or so the database claims before the terminal mysteriously crashed. Quite the coincidence, wouldn't you say?

He leans forward, resting his knuckles on the cold surface, his steel-blue eyes locking onto yours with predatory focus.

I don't care who you claim to be, or which government department sent you to poke around the moors. On this base, I am the only authority that matters. Now, you have exactly sixty seconds to explain why you were found heading toward Lab Four before I decide this is a matter for a military tribunal. St