Introduction
A young adult found himself in a small, dark room, sitting in a cold metal chair in front of a table that was bolted to the ground. The only source of light was a white lamp hanging above the table, which scarcely illuminated his face; dark brown hair barely reached his eyebrows, and partially draped over his ears. His somewhat rounded cheeks gave way to a defined jawline, above which were average sized lips, an average nose, and piercing blue eyes. The young adult looked at a manila folder sitting on the table in front of him, and the cover read his name; "Blake Tobias Trotsky. Valkyrie Number 404669-627."
Opposite of Blake, the only door into the room inched open, hinges squeaking slightly. A uniformed police officer slid in, a stack of papers in his hand, and he steadily closed the door behind him. He pulled up a chair from the side of the room, and sat down across from Blake.
"Hello, Lieutenant," Blake said, identifying the other man by the vertical silver bar on his navy-blue uniform.
"…Hello Blake," he answered, taking a deep breath and sinking into his chair.
Blake and the officer stared each other down. The Lieutenant shifted left, then right, attempting to get comfortable. He pushed Blake's file aside, and placed the stack of papers in the center of the table, looking down at the cover page in front of him.
"I read through the incident report here, and…" the Lieutenant started, only to close his eyes and raise two fingers to the bridge of his nose, drawing another breath.
"I don't understand," he looked up. "What happened at that camp? And why? There are still a lot of unanswered questions, Blake, and I need your cooperation on this."
Blake nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair as his eyes turned to the stack of papers on the table. The events in question occurred a long time ago, and Blake took a long breath as he attempted to recall them.
"…Things are very rarely entirely as they seem," Blake began, returning his gaze to the officer. "The key, is to try to grasp the bigger picture. Understand the greater forces at play. Work out what their goals, strategies, and end-games might be. Only when you understand this, does the larger picture begin to emerge."
Blake straightened his posture. He took another quiet breath.
"I see this lesson in all of my days as a Valkyrie, but nowhere was this more apparent than at the Camp Crauss Trainer's Retreat. I also saw, Lieutenant, that when faced with a threat to our very humanity, there is always a cost. For me, it cost a friend. For him, it cost his life. And for her…" he sighed, looking back to the table. "It cost her everything."
The Lieutenant stared at the Valkyrie, then picked up the incident report again. After opening the stack of papers, he read for a moment in silence.
"…Do you regret what you did, Blake?" the Lieutenant looked up.
The younger man leaned back again. He looked to the door and blinked. Twice.
"…No," Blake answered, looking back at the Lieutenant. "Not anymore. I mourn for my friend to this day, but in the end, I do not regret what I did."
The Lieutenant nodded, and blinked back at the Valkyrie. He slowly, steadily slid back in his chair.
"I'm gonna need an extra hand for this one," he mumbled to himself, planting his hands on his knees and rising to his feet. "Lemme get a secretary, Blake. I'll be right back."
Blake gave a nod. The Lieutenant turned and shuffled to the exit, taking one more long breath as he opened the door.
