A middle-aged man walks into the big hall, that's deep within the station. The noises that the partly unoiled machinery causes, a dissonant mess of sounds as if an unorganized orchestra would play different pieces with horrible quality instruments, echo through the halls that lie behind.
This place is a little more distant from the hard work that Andreas has to go through each day, while it is at the same time surrounded by it. This is the sanctum that provides relaxation for a lot of workers, and the same it does for him.
Andreas still wears his equipment from the recent flight, being the leader of a fighter wing in Dresden fighting hessians back. Those were easy prey, and Daumann got no losses this time, just some scratches. He took his helmet of though, and now he walks over towards the bartender and takes a seat right there.
"I'll take good old non-alcoholic synth beer, please. I still have to fly later."
While the bartender brings him his drink, he glances over the room, to see who's there. Shortly after, he turns towards his glass and starts drinking.
