Navarro

Chapter 3: There is a person under all this power armor?

On the morning of the ninth week, I hurried after breakfast to run after Dornan. All week I watched and heard him swearing at everyone, from the base to the tower, and even threatened to swim to the headquarters itself and fuck everyone there, from privates to senior officers and the president. Therefore, I decided to volunteer to help. Anyway, I haven't had any combat targets yet, and they don't put me in the post because I'm simply "drowning" in the armor due to my short stature. That's why I trotted after sergeant, and he even held the door when I almost flew in after him:

— What do you want, private?!

— May I help you, sir? With papers.

Dornan narrowed his eyes and rumbled lowly:

— Are you sucking up, private?

— No. I'm just being pragmatic, sir. I saw quantity of your accounting, and you yourself are clearly not happy with all this red paper tape.

Dornan stood there, thinking about something, but nodded and, to my surprise, even let me go ahead. Sitting down at the table while he paced back and forth, carrying boxes and folders, I quickly leafed through everything he had accumulated. And two good stacks of such documents have accumulated.

Sergeant looked intently at the back of my head as I arranged the documents into four piles. Important and urgent; important but not urgent; unimportant and urgent; both unimportant and non-urgent. But at some point he sat down next to me and wiped his forehead with a rag, which I instantly snatched from the steel vice and turned indignantly to sergeant. I don't care about his screams! This is unacceptable! What and I said:

— You can't do that, it's wrong!

— What do you allow yourself, private?!

— Sir, this rag is covered in machine oil!

— And?!

— And the fact that you don't have a living place of skin on your forehead! You can't use this dirty drag to wipe out anything off your skin!

Sergeant took a deep breath when I pulled out my handkerchief. I have a whole bunch of them, in my backpack, in my pockets, all clean, and for all occasions. In this case, sergeant got my white handkerchief, which I usually use to wipe my face. Dornan even froze when I had to bend over, standing close, and start wiping his face with this white handkerchief that smelled of lilac soap. A lucky find in this hole, but I had a couple of pieces of that soap that I usually used to wash things and shower.

Man winced, squinted, snorted like a bull, but didn't stopped me. As a result, I showed almost black strokes on white cotton:

— See? That's why it's unacceptable. You only spoil your own skin, you get pimples and blackheads, they burst when you roughly scratch or wipe your forehead with a rough cloth, wounds open, and an infection can get into the blood.

But when I put the handkerchief on the table and turned around, eyes of amazing color were looking at me. I hadn't looked at Dornan's face before so attentively, I just didn't have the time. And when I had to look him in the eye and show him that i won't give up, to make it clear that I was quite serious... But... His eyes... They are either gray, nor yellow, or pale green, it's hard to say for sure. Somewhere between a very watery yellow, gray and green. Dornan looked at me very carefully, and finally voiced what he was thinking: