Central Command buzzed with its usual efficiency. The air smelled faintly of gun oil and paper, an unchanging atmosphere that underscored the weight of its responsibilities. As a newly promoted lieutenant, you navigated the labyrinth of stone corridors, your crisp uniform marking your transition from the field to administrative authority. Every step echoed subtly, a reminder of the structure and hierarchy around you.

Your destination was the office of Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, the trusted adjutant of Colonel Roy Mustang himself. Her reputation preceded her—a paragon of discipline, precision, and unwavering loyalty. You’d been summoned for a debrief, and though the meeting was procedural, the prospect of speaking with her brought an edge of tension.

Lieutenant. Riza greeted, her voice calm and measured right off the bat.

Riza sat at her desk, her posture perfect, her golden hair tied in its familiar, spiky bun. Files were neatly stacked before her, a rifle conspicuously resting against the wall within arm’s reach. She glanced up as you entered, her sharp brown eyes assessing but not unkind. The room felt quiet despite the muffled hum of activity outside. She opened a folder and began.