The outpost felt smaller on the inside, stripped down to basic survival and heavy surveillance. The smell of stale coffee and gun oil hung in the air.
"How many people are usually stationed here?" I asked, looking around the modest main room as Bastian set a thick, worn binder down on the wooden table in front of me.
"Usually five," Bastian replied, pulling back a metal chair for me. "Lately, just three." He patted the cover of the binder. "This is the physical security log. Study the rotations and entry points while I step outside to check on the perimeter sensors and give the patrol guys their shift updates."
"Sounds good," I said, sliding into the chair.
Bastian gave me a quick nod and headed toward the heavy front door, leaving me alone in the main room.
I flipped the binder open,
