“Special Agent Lara Whitfield, your orientation officer. Eight minutes early goes in your file.” She pressed the tea into {{user}}'s hand and tapped the schedule. “Records, Armory, Labs, then partner selection. Drink while we walk.”

“Good morning, Headquarters. Machine 9 is for agents only, and our registered banshee will kindly stop using it as a shortcut.” The lobby speakers crackled once. “Whitfield, Records says your rookie's forms are warming up. Officer Fischer has opinions about punctuality.”

[Rank: Rookie | Partner: Unassigned | Case: Orientation | Location: MIW Headquarters, Records Office, Admin Level 3 | Date/Time: Monday, October 19, 8:04 AM | Completed Cases Since Promotion: 0]

Lara steered {{user}} across the lobby, past the plastic chair, where a short grey-green figure in a velvet waistcoat tipped an imaginary hat. The elevator climbed three floors and opened onto rows of identical grey counters stretching to the far wall.

High Officer Renata Fischer stood behind the last one. Forty-one forms waited before her in a perfect color-coded fan, a pen beside them at an exact right angle.

“Initial every page, sign the yellow ones, and thumbprint Form 7-W.” Her smile held a beat too long. “Seven-W formally retires your civilian identity, so I recommend reading it. Historically, nobody does.”

[Rank: Rookie | Partner: Unassigned | Case: Orientation | Location: MIW Headquarters, Records Office, Admin Level 3 | Date/Time: Monday, October 19, 8:49 AM | Completed Cases Since Promotion: 0]

The stack shrank page by page while Lara answered emails with one thumb. Twice, a cabinet labeled REGISTRY OVERFLOW rattled behind the counter, and twice Renata stilled it with a flat palm. She stamped the final form with a heavy thunk and filed {{user}}'s former life into a grey drawer.

Lara was already walking. The elevator down arrived occupied by a silver-haired woman in a white pantsuit, a folded file tucked under her arm.

“You must be the newest one. Ophelia Null, Chief of Men-In-White.” She offered {{user}} a firm handshake as the doors slid shut. “This job is paperwork, patience, and things with too many teeth. Pick a partner you'd trust to drag you out of a sewer. It's the most important decision you'll ever make here.”

[Rank: Rookie | Partner: Unassigned | Case: Orientation | Location: MIW Headquarters, Armory, Sub-Level 1 | Date/Time: Monday, October 19, 8:58 AM | Completed Cases Since Promotion: 0]

The Chief rode on toward the labs as Lara stepped out at Sub-Level 1. The armory smelled of gun oil, cold steel, and a thread of incense drifting from a locked cage at the back. Armory Chief Bobby Holt stood behind a steel counter, arms folded over a canvas apron, a tray of three items in front of him.

At the next window, a woman in safety goggles was signing for a crate of containment foam.

“Neuralizer, field scanner, Model 12 dispersal pistol. Sign for each.” He tapped the neuralizer with one thick finger. “Shades on before the red button, or you wake up tomorrow convinced you're a dental hygienist.”

“Bobby, is the censer awake again? It hummed at me.” She hefted the foam crate and turned to Lara with a small, dark smile. “We test it at ten. Bring the rookie. Watching containment almost fail is the best lesson there is.”

[Rank: Rookie | Partner: Unassigned | Case: Orientation | Location: MIW Headquarters, Research Labs, Sub-Level 2 | Date/Time: Monday, October 19, 9:58 AM | Completed Cases Since Promotion: 0]

Bobby walked {{user}} through every switch and safety catch twice. Then Eliza's cart led the way down one level, the caged censer rattling on top, into a glass corridor where every room hummed at a different pitch.

Dr. Viktor Schiele waited at the end in brass goggles, a bubbling flask raised like a toast. Chief Null watched from a stool by the wall, her file open on one knee.

“Ah. A new one. I will explain everything slowly.” He drew the envelope from his coat and pressed it into {{user}}'s hand. “Your relic sensitivity is average. Average agents live the longest. Now stand behind the yellow line and enjoy science.”

[Rank: Rookie | Partner: Unassigned | Case: Orientation | Location: MIW Headquarters, Research Labs, Sub-Level 2 | Date/Time: Monday, October 19, 10:12 AM | Completed Cases Since Promotion: 0]

Eliza lit the censer and fed a ribbon of smoke into Tank 4. Something heavy struck the inside of the steel, and a whisper slid out through the vents like rustling paper. The overhead lights dimmed to amber, held, and returned.

Schiele applauded alone. Chief Null closed her file, and the lab intercom chimed.

“Whitfield, your three candidates are in Briefing Room C. One has rearranged the chairs, and another is reading Registry files above her clearance.” A short pause on the line. “The third one brought tea. I like him.”

[Rank: Rookie | Partner: Unassigned | Case: Orientation | Location: MIW Headquarters, Briefing Room C, Level 6 | Date/Time: Monday, October 19, 10:24 AM | Completed Cases Since Promotion: 0]

Lara led the way back up, her pace quickening with every floor. Briefing Room C held a long table, three chairs spaced along one side at precise intervals, and three rookies from the same intake class sitting in them.

“Your fellow rookies and partner candidates.” She squared her clipboard to the edge of the table. “Introductions, thirty seconds each. Volkov, you first.”

“Nadia Volkov. Six years in counterintelligence before the recruiters found me.” She touched the silver locket at her collar once. “I close cases, I keep reports short, and I bring my partner home.”

“Mei Chen! Doctorate in cryptozoology, three published papers everyone laughed at, and I've read the entire Registry twice.” She slid the tablet further under her notebook. “I also run toward things. Apparently that's a note in my file.”

“Hassan Amari. Twelve years with Moroccan customs, mostly confiscating things that bite.” He slid a glass of tea across the table to {{user}}. “Patient, punctual, and already neuralized twice, so I'm the low-risk option.”