Getting back to this.
Veracruz
State of Cárdenas
FSB paperwork really was paperwork, which had confused the hell out of Norm when he first encountered it. Why write things down, when there were computers? It wasn’t until his first aftermath report that he understood. When you had stuff on a computer, you were putting it out there for the entire world to see. You had to actually go find a piece of paper before you could find out what it said. It made it a lot easier to keep the nosey out of things that really weren’t any of their damned business.
Norm didn’t know what he’d do when the reformers finally changed that, too. Probably retire. They were being pretty good about letting people go out on a full pension. But I like busting cultist heads, he thought, and chuckled.
“Oh, that’s not something a bad guy wants to hear,” a familiar voice announced over his shoulder. “Even if he’s not here to hear it.”
Norm turned his head, looked up, and grinned. “David! You’re back. You enjoy London?”
David Romero gave him a smile back before grabbing a seat at his own desk. And, just like that, it was like he hadn’t been gone for three months. “I now know why all you anglos moved,” he announced. “The food sucks, and you never see the sun. And don’t get me started on their soccer.”