The armourist looked up bored as Devon arrived. Taking the armour without saying much. "Hm... I'll give you 20 pound for the hide. Mace eh... 10 pounds. Not worth much to us, but you went through the trouble. And finally 50 pounds for finishing up that mission." It was a shitty pay, but that was the norm for R1's. "Of course, you also get rank 2 clearances now. Good job rookie." The compliment sounded quite... fake. Most recruits died between rank 1 and 5, so the armourist was probably just distancing himself for the sake of not having to feel sorry about Devon dying.

The armourist looked through the broken kevlar vest for a bit, before raising an eye brow. "Did you take the auxiliary equipment out?"

"Well shit rookie. Here you go, it'll be in this vest. I'll be sure to give whoever did that a hard time." The armorist put down a new light kevlar vest down for him.

(Added short-wave radio, pack of paracord rope, 3 MRE's.)

The barracks would no doubt be handing out free grub for Devon.

This particular part of the barracks was loaded at this point of the day. Many were present to eat their breakfast. Today, it consisted of mystery soup, bread and what looked like scottish cooking. Being used to england at this point, Devon knew well to avoid the latter.

Devon didn't talk to anyone, nor did the others seemed to care all too much about this. With a full belly and all of his needs taken care off, Devon was free to do as he saw fit.

(going to big ben)