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The evening sun had filtered its way through the windows of the old apartment building, casting a warm orange glow across the stone staircase. Heat radiated from the shafts of light, making Sierra-7D squint as he climbed upward. The infantryman had completed his duties for the day and was finally granted some rest after hours of seemingly pointless manual labor, work that could've easily been handled by civilian hazmat crews, if not for the fact that his team’s Ordinal, OS-7, didn’t trust citizens with transporting classified, hazardous cargo. He swore that, sometimes, it looked as if the Ordinal took some kind of sick pleasure from watching his men perform redundant physical work.

S-7D unlocked the front door to his quarters, the Combine-issued lock emitting a satisfied beep as he waved his hand in front of it. He kicked off his boots and let them land haphazardly by the entrance. The apartment was modest, it was a single room divided into a kitchenette and a bedroom, with walls covered in faded beige wallpaper patterned with tired-looking florals. The kitchenette, tucked to the left of the doorway, was partially divided from the entryway by a low counter. Most of the appliances left behind by the unit's previous occupant went unused - after all, all his meals came either pre-packaged from the Combine or were prepared in the dining facility, leaving him little reason to cook for himself.

Sierra-7D had been living alone for weeks. His former bunkmate - Sierra-7A - seemed to have been reassigned to a different fireteam entirely, leaving 7D the sole occupant of the apartment. He had come to accept that soldiers came and went; it was simply part of life in the Combine Overwatch. Injury or death was always a risk. While fatalities weren’t exactly common, 7D had witnessed at least two of his teammates perish. Soldiers treated death as nothing more than a warning - just another reminder that a capable infantryman should never underestimate his enemies or neglect the health and safety ethics. Still, until the new recruits would come to replace the lost units, there was always a period of an odd atmosphere present in the apartment. 7D figured it was only natural for him to have feelings of melancholy living all by himself, grunts like him were never supposed to be alone, being a part of a group is a crucial part of survival.

He wandered absently around what passed for a living room, then rubbed his hands over his face, his fingers grazing the metallic plates embedded in his skull - as if the gesture could somehow scrape away the noise in his mind. But it was no use dwelling on things he couldn’t control.

S-7D turned to face the empty bed, walked over to the lower bunk, and dropped onto the thin mattress, the modest bedsheet rustling as the metal frame groaned beneath his weight. He removed the eyepatch from his augmented right eye - revealing little more than an empty socket with a few wires jutting out from within. As a transhuman, he had one of his replaced with much more efficient technology as part of his promotion. Combine eyepieces allowed for better sight, were much more durable than an actual eye and easier to maintain if anything malfunctioned. Units who have undergone enhancements to both eyes, opt out for wearing specialized masks that would cover a part of their faces, equipped with additional lenses that allowed them to see without having to wear their gas masks. S-7D was awaiting his promotion, as he could only see with one eye for the time being, he did possess auxiliary lenses, meant to aid with sight if the unit had a malfunctioning eyepiece, but the Ordinal has forbidden one-eyed units from displaying their optical modifications in public, hence why he had to cover his eye with a rudimentary piece of clothing.

He rolled onto his left side and squinted with his good eye to check the time on the clock on the wall - just past 8 PM. Sierra-7D let out a quiet sigh and hummed softly to himself. The building was unusually silent. The tenants downstairs were quieter than usual, and even his next-door neighbors - APFS-7 and WHS-7 - had cut their usual banter short. Odd, but not unwelcome. Just as sleep began to tug at him, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway. They grew louder, then abruptly stopped. A brief silence, then came two knocks at his door. Sierra-7D groaned and pushed himself off the bed. He trudged toward the entrance, irritation flickering across his face. But when he opened the door and saw his Ordinal-OS-7-standing there, his demeanor changed immediately. His eye widened, his posture straightened, and he cleared his throat before acknowledging his superior. OS-7 stood in the dimly lit hallway, imposing as ever. He was a muscular man, slightly taller than 7D, and radiated an intimidating presence. His face was unreadable - partially concealed by a plate where his eyes should’ve been. In place of eyes, twin lenses glowed softly from the sockets, scanning without emotion.

“Ordinal,” S-7D said stiffly, his voice edged with a faint accent betraying his nerves. He stood at attention, unsure why his superior had come to see him in person. A slow wave of anxiety crept in. He hadn’t slacked off - his assignments were complete, protocols followed, idle chatter kept to a minimum. Still, something felt off. OS-7 wouldn’t show up out of uniform just to scold him - especially not here, in his own living quarters. And yet, the silent, unblinking gaze made 7D’s skin crawl.

“Echo One Sierra-7D,” OS-7 said in his hoarse voice. “A new recruit will be joining your quarters. Your objective is to ensure the unit’s comfort and safety.” S-7D exhaled quietly through his nose, relieved. So this wasn’t a disciplinary visit after all.

“When’s he expected to arrive?” he asked, his shoulders easing slightly. OS-7 didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped back into the hallway and reached out - grabbing something, or someone, by the collar. With effortless force, he dragged a figure into view and shoved them into the apartment. Sierra-7D instinctively moved aside as the stranger stumbled past him. He glanced back at OS-7, a faint furrow forming between his brows. For a split second, he could’ve sworn the Ordinal smirked. Without a word, OS-7 produced two syringes from his pocket and handed them to 7D.

“Administer ad hoc. Report anti-social behavior.” he instructed, locking eyes with the infantryman. S-7D met the cold lenses briefly, then shifted his gaze to the man’s forehead as he nodded.

“Goodnight, Echo One Sierra-7D. Echo One Sierra-7A,” OS-7 added, leaning to the side to glance at the new recruit before turning and walking away. S-7D closed the door with a sigh, irritation seeping in. So this was the new Sierra-7A. The recruit was hunched over one of the countertops, unmoving. S-7D approached to get a better look, flipping the lights on as he did. The room filled with a harsh glow, revealing a young man with olive-toned skin, he was shorter than S7D too, and a bit scrawny for combat standards. S-7D gave his shoulder a light pat to get his attention. No response. The rookie swayed slightly, his head hanging low, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

“Hey.” S-7D shook his shoulder more firmly. “You alright?” Sierra-7D knew that new recruits delivered to him often behaved strangely, some could speak and move on their own; others shut down completely, falling into a catatonic state and staring blankly into space for hours. When the young man gave no response, 7D understood that he’d been handed a burden that the Ordinal couldn’t be bothered to take care of himself, and now it was his job to look after the rookie while he was still in this fragile state. He let out an annoyed groan and muttered a curse at the Ordinal in a foreign tongue as he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around S-7A, he hoisted the limp body upright and began hauling him toward the bunk. The kid was surprisingly light, even with his boots dragging across the floor, it was nothing compared to lugging barrels full of waste. Still, 7D winced at the sight of the recruit's shoes dragging in dirt from outside onto the apartment floor. He pulled back the blankets and sat the younger man on the lower bunk, untied his boots, and tossed them near the bed. Then he gently laid him on his side and covered him with the blanket.

While crouching down, 7D examined the face of his new roommate. The skin around the buried metal sheets on his forehead was reddened and slightly puffed. He reached out, tracing the surface lightly with his fingers before jumping back as S-7A whispered out a weak, breathy moan. S-7D noticed a sudden flicker of awareness in the rookie's eyes, as they began darting around the room erratically, as if he were looking at something that didn't exist. And then, just as suddenly, the young man's eyes fixed on the face of 7D, his eyelids drooped ever so slightly, for an instant, he looked relieved to see another human being. S-7D just kept staring, and wasn't quite sure what he was expecting. The rookie was still slumped, half there, then he moved slightly. Sierra-7A's mouth opened as though about to say something, but all that came out was this rough groan. His throat shifted, for a moment he looked as if he was going to try again, his lips curled, trying to shape something.

“Don’t push yourself.” S-7D shushed, before 7A could say anything. The younger man seemed to comply with his caretaker’s orders, his mouth squeezing shut as he watched 7D get up on his feet.

“Be right back.” 7D said as he stepped away from 7A, disappearing into the kitchenette, briefly obscured by the walls of the bathroom tucked in the corner of the apartment, directly across from the bunk. Sierra-7D rummaged through the shelves, sorting through a mess of old kitchenware - scratched frying pans, enameled pots with faded floral designs, and a few empty bottles thrown in haphazardly. Eventually, he found what he was looking for: a metal kettle stashed at the back of the cupboard. He filled it halfway with water and placed it on the stove, unsure if there was even any gas left in the tank. Twisting the valve open, he let fuel flow to the burners before turning the knob, igniting it. While the water heated, he rummaged through a drawer in the counter and pulled out two herbal tea bags, chamomile, at least according to the packaging. He dropped one into each mug.

Hot drinks had become rare over the years. The general store sometimes stocked tea or coffee, but prices were steep - affordable only to the privileged few: Civil Protection officers or Combine Overwatch personnel. Even then, the stock never lasted long. Sierra-7D had managed to snag some tea and kept it hidden for special occasions. Mostly for when OS-7 decided to drop by unannounced for a private talk. But he’d also developed a habit of offering tea to new recruits. It started after a story APFS-7 once told him, about how he used to drink tea made from dried chamomile and chew a strange-looking plant that would grow on the alley between Block 4 and 5, saying that it helped with the pain in his arms after getting his arm stabilizer implants. Since then, 7D considered herbal tea a kind of low-risk remedy for the post-op side effects that sometimes came with enhancements, dismissing the Suppressor’s suggestion of ingesting unknown flora entirely.

Sierra-7D peeked out from behind the corner to look at his flatmate, he spotted S-7A sprawled out on the bed, now lying on his back. Looks like he must’ve moved on his own. 7D walked over, grabbed the younger man and gently shifted him onto his side. S-7A exhaled a huff of protest at the handling.

“Stay like this. I’m not letting you choke on your own spit.” S-7A’s eyes flicked up to 7D briefly before turning away, a quiet breath escaping through his nose. He clearly wanted to say something, maybe push back, but couldn’t.

“You’ll be able to talk soon. Don’t worry.”

7D lingered beside him for a moment, wanting to say more, maybe something reassuring, but the high-pitched whistle of the kettle interrupted him. He turned and walked quickly to the stove, pulled the kettle off the burner, and poured hot water into the mugs. A few limescale flakes floated in the now slightly greenish liquid. Sierra-7D took out a tablespoon that would enable him to give something to drink to the other man, who still seemed like he wouldn’t be able to hold a mug in his hands. He carried the mugs over to the bunk and set them down on a nearby chair. Then he pulled another chair close to S-7A and sat, cradling his tea in both hands, gently blowing on the steam as he watched the young man.

“Think you can sit up on your own now?” he asked, not entirely sure why. He doubted 7A could, or that he’d even respond to him. S-7D leaned closer to S-7A and looked at his blank-stare face. “Do you even speak English?” To his surprise, the younger man nodded, his head moving up and down gently, Sierra-7D couldn’t help but smile a little, happy to see that 7A could now communicate with him to an extent.

“I’m gonna move you, okay?” Sierra-7A gave a slow, almost lazy nod. That was all 7D needed. He set his cup down on the chair and leaned in, carefully lifting the younger man upright and easing him so he could sit at the edge of the bed. Still a bit wobbly, but stable enough, not like he was gonna tip over any second.

"There we go. You don't look like a corpse anymore." said 7D, exhaling through his nose as a crooked smile spread across his face, to his own surprise, 7A did react. Barely, but enough. The corner of his mouth trembled as if he was trying to smile back, he looked at 7D through those half-closed eyes, slouched forward with his hands resting loosely on his thighs. 7D lifted the second mug and stirred the tea, the spoon clinking off the ceramic. He took a little of it with the spoon, blew on it to cool it, and glanced sideways at 7A, whose eyes were already on him, the rookie's expression changing - his brow furrowed. Like he didn't know whether 7D was serious or just joking around. His eyes remained still, 7D bent forward and let the spoon press against his lips, 7A blinked, caught off-guard. He sat still, odd and motionless, until 7D put a hand under his chin, hard but light.

"Come on," he mumbled, beginning to get flustered. 7A reluctantly opened his mouth and took in the tea, flinching slightly as he swallowed. The wince that crossed his face seemed more from the moment than the drink itself. He exhaled - a rough, papery breath through his mouth and gave a small cough, likely realizing just how raw and dry his throat was. Without warning, he reached for the mug in Sierra-7D’s hand, fingers clutching weakly at the ceramic, trying to pull it away.

“H-hey, you’re gonna spill it,” 7D protested, gripping the mug tighter and nudging the younger man back. “Let go.”

But instead of backing off, 7A leaned in closer, his body sliding forward as he pressed his face toward the cup. He drank from it with clumsy urgency, like a starved animal, tea trickling down his chin and onto 7D’s thighs. The older man sighed through his nose, clearly exasperated but not angry. Eventually, 7A pulled away, panting for breath. Then, with a burst of shaky determination, he snatched the mug out of 7D’s hands and drained what was left before slamming the empty cup down on the nearby chair.

7D blinked, momentarily stunned. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, too thrown off to speak, to his surprise, it was Sierra-7A who broke the silence.

“Thank you.” he said - raspy, quiet, his voice still frayed but unmistakably sincere. 7D, flustered, gave him a small nod and stood up without saying anything, he grabbed the empty mug and headed toward the kitchenette. As he walked, he glanced down at his pants, now damp with tea droplets, he wasn’t exactly thrilled, but he couldn’t bring himself to be mad at the kid, he probably hadn’t meant to be rude, he was just wrecked. At least, 7D hoped that was all it was.