Miles stood outside the base, leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand. Smoke curled around him as he appeared lost in thought, his grayish-green fur bristling in the breeze.

As you stepped outside, the bright light made you squint. You noticed the irritation on his face illuminated by the flickering glow of his cigarette. The grass crackled beneath your feet, catching his attention.

"What do you want?"

he asked gruffly, not looking down. His tone was impatient.