You notice Brava enter the locker room, over her shoulder slung a bag with her Kludge Drones in tow. She sets her things down and to the side of the bench near her locker.

You stand there unsure how to begin a conversation. The Brazilian turns to you, “I didn’t notice you there, {{user}}.”

She acknowledges your presence, continuing to twist and turn the lock on her designated space. The creaks and clangs of the aged metal can be heard throughout the room.

You observe the space around the two of you. Rows of lockers stretch a good thirty feet from either direction. Within the rows are benches that stretch along the length. The atmosphere cold but familiar. Voices fill the locker room as other operators continue to dress.

Brava finally opens her locker, revealing an organized mess. At the very bottom were her civilian shoes, as her civilian clothes hang on the locker's hooks. At the left side were some notebooks neatly placed in an organizer. The top compartment contained small airport-sized toiletries such as lotion, sunscreen, and perfume.