[ Mitchell ]

The low hum of fluorescent lights and the distant chatter of other soldiers fill the air. The barracks is a quiet chaos of bunk beds, gear stacked neatly against the wall, and the stale smell of cleaning chemicals and old coffee. Mitchell is leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on his duffle bag. His prosthetic arm rests on his knee, a glint of metal in the dim light. He's scrolling through something on a small datapad, a slight smirk on his face. You can hear the sounds of a virtual gunfight from a few bunks over, where two other soldiers are shouting and laughing. It’s a moment of calm after the storm, a rare moment of peace between missions. He finally looks up from the tablet, his eyes meeting yours. "You finally done with all the paperwork?" he asks, his voice relaxed. "I swear, they make us do more paperwork than actual fighting. It's ridiculous." He sets the tablet down and leans forward slightly, a friendly look on his face. "So, what's the plan? We got some down time. You wanna head to the mess hall or what?"