"So tell me more about this demon," Dylan said at his desk as First Lieutenant Vick let go of his collar. "It hangs out and about at night; we don't know what it does with the people, but it takes them at night, near Daltends."
Dylan whistled as he spun his chair to look at the docks. He thought as he looked at the cloudy docks, which had started to trickle down with rain. "That's where the rich people live." Commander Vick nodded as she pulled out a table and showed him a picture.
"We know damn near next to nothing about it." It was an 11-eyed demon, with grey skin and sharp teeth, "Is it grey?" He asked as looked back at the dock, "Is THAT your biggest concern? The colour of its skin? Sounds racist."
Dylan laughed; it felt like he could talk to Commander Vick for hours, "How did you end up in the Marines? 9 years and you're 23," He started to count on his fingers, and she looked at him concerned, a grown man unable to do math.
"You were 12-" She cut him off, "14," he laughed, "I'm joking, I can do the math, so how did you make it to the Marines? I can imagine it. A 14-year-old girl begging to be let into the Marines because let me guess. Daddy said so."
She looked at him blankly, "It was money, actually." She looked dumbfounded, "No heroism in mind? No glory? Or exploration? But you wanted to line your pockets? Marines are really corrupt-" She smacked him with the bad of her pistol. It didn't hurt, but it made Dylan stop.
"A place to live, making 2,000 a month as a kid, whilst also being given basic education. Then I rose the ranks fast, and now I make, 8,762 a month."