As in every Danian military building,
pictures of President Scrub Thicket, Vice President Bonnie Peters, and the
five regional CEOs adorned the wall opposite the main entrance. Commander
Randle Dante, Sr. sat in the waiting room of Sanctuary City Medical Center. He
wore his civilian clothes—a pressed grey polo tucked into starched black slacks
with a thin black leather belt and polished steel-toed boots—as stiffly as he
sat in the sea foam green chair. Draped in the seat next to him was a black trench
coat, also in the seat was a grey canvas messenger bag topped with a plain
black cap. He read through a stack of papers brought from Camp Polkner. Just
because he’d been ordered for evaluation did not mean his work was done. The
papers contained reports from every soldier involved in the incarceration and
search efforts regarding escapee Kent Wheelock, AKA Prisoner 318.
A wide-eyed young man, with a
high-and-tight so high it was nearly a Mohawk, sat a few seats away drumming
his fingers on the arms of his chair and alternating the bounce in both his
legs. He watched a mute TV perched in the corner of the waiting room above a
motivational picture of an enormous oak tree being struck by lightning, its
caption read: POWER – With great power comes great responsibility.
