The man that Devon was met with was one he immediately recognised as an ex-spec ops soldier. It was obvious to him by the physical appearance. A thick moustache, strong chiselled yet wrinkled face and many old but powerful muscles. The red-grey hair was still fully of fury, but a little bit of a belly had grown under the belt. At his lips, an oak pipe, with a streak of blue smoke raising from it.

"Is that so..." Was all the commander replied with, stroking his stubbled chin while squinting at him. "I think that the satyr didn't say anything."

Churchill remained silent, just long enough for Devon to get the feeling he should speak, only to cut him off. Almost as if Churchil was just showing off he had the power over this situation and not him. "And i also think that if you ever come across something like that again, you come to tell me about it - and me only - so I can remind you that it is just your imagination. Got it?

Once stepping out of the office, he was right back into the lobby.