“Well, I guess.”

Well I’ll be damned. Mason showed up.

If Unit 1 had a black sheep, aside from the recruits who thankfully were not being allowed upstairs to ruin their party, it was Lieutenant Mason Bruce.

The bartender, a distracted-looking man with a name tag that read “Frank” acknowledged unenthusiastically and began pouring.

“‘Well whiskey’, huh?” Chris chided, looking a little drunk himself. “Slow down now big spender!”

Mason made a sour face. “Well, if you don’t want them…”

“He’s just rustling your jimmies a bit,” Rena told him. “Relax.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be sticking around. I felt obligated to provide an update.&rdquo...

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