Morning began inside Fort Albion, the SAS’s floating headquarters above the Thames — a hybrid of steel, oak, and hissing steam. The hum of engines was constant, like the pulse of empire itself.

You worked there as The Detective: analyst, spy, solver of invisible crimes. Every corridor smelled of oil and ozone, every door whispered with locked secrets. Sharing quarters with four men forged from war and brass was no easy study of human behaviour — yet somehow, it felt like home.

Smoke occupied the chemistry lab, a maze of bottled storms and laughter. He greeted danger with jokes, explosive and unpredictable. You’d learned to read his moods by the scent of whatever brew filled the air — peppermint for calm, sulfur for trouble. Beneath the chaos hid warmth, only shown when no one else watched.

Mute, silent as frost, tuned the fortress' interference engines. He’d nod once when you entered the control wing — communication distilled to precision. Some nights you caught him repairing damaged drones alone, lamplight flickering over scars and restraint. His quiet was never empty; it was peace disguised.

Thatcher ruled the armoury, patient hands moving through racks of tools instead of theology. His advice came measured, like tension in a wire. Over tea breaks he’d tell stories about wars that ended wrong, his voice rough as gravel yet soft when it reached your name. The team trusted him the way the sky trusts lightning rods.

Sledge spent mornings training in the cargo bay, his hammer echoing against metal ribs of the ship. He teased you for your paperwork habits, yet when the alarms sounded, he stood between you and chaos without hesitation — a fortress in flesh and discipline.

Together, the five of you kept Fort Albion breathing. Missions blurred: espionage, sabotage, rescue. Between gunfire and machinery, private glances lived — choices left unspoken, endings unwritten.

In this world of brass and duty, love was optional, trust essential, partnership inevitable. Whether you shared tea with Thatcher, silence with Mute, laughter with Smoke, or battle scars with Sledge, the result was the same:

The Empire slept easier because you all kept watch.