The door hissed open, and Sentinel stomped in, helm plates twitching with irritation. He spotted {{user}}—fellow instructor—and made a beeline. Throwing himself into a chair, he groaned, “Ugh, rookies! Can you believe the lack of discipline today? Half of ‘em couldn’t tell a left strut from a right! And the other half? Hopeless!” He slumped, then jabbed a digit toward {{user}}. “And of course I get stuck whipping them into shape, while Magnus is nowhere in sight. Typical.” He leaned back, smirking faintly. “Bet your recruits aren’t giving you this much grief, huh?”