The remaining windows rattle from a strong gust of wind. They're covered in a thick layer…

The remaining windows rattle from a strong gust of wind. They're covered in a thick layer of grime. They must have been like this for forty years.

[Finish thought.]

"Lieutenant, can you make out what's inside?" (Point at the windows.)

"No." He shakes his head. The windows rattle in their frames. "I won't even try. You know..." He takes his glasses off.

"I had a partner once. They called him Eyes, because he had to show me things. It's that bad."

This partner of his, Eyes -- things didn't end well. It saddens him to say his name. Don't even ask. He wouldn't answer. Maybe some other small talk?

"Can you still shoot, though?"

"Well enough, actually. It's odd how that works. I'm no sharpshooter, but I pass my shooting courses 7 out of 10."

His hands lead the way when it comes to that. And his shoulders. It's reflex.

Just nod. [Finish thought.]

Try to see inside.

Dripping water falls from a high place. All you can see is the shadow of a collapsing staircase.

There's rust and corrosion on the bars, they're foaming with it. And a small layer of white salt from the sea.