As much as Kyle might wish otherwise off-duty, he has to admit... the armory truly does feel like home. The marksman automatically finds his posture straightening, and his stride becoming more measured... even after two or three years as a civilian, the old habits come right back.<br/><br/>"Morning, ma'am." Kyle nods to the woman, and looks around for the requisition forms. "New unit requesting permission to supply. We have..."<br/><br/>He looks back over his shoulders, doing a quick body-count. He supposes he should include Ms. Standoffish in the count, and the quiet little medic woman too.<br/><br/>"5 heads. Will we each need a form, or can we all use one?"<br/><br/>Kyle waits patiently as the woman explains the system, and then signs out a single scanner and log for the squad. May as well just pass it along and keep all requisitions together, rather than spreading it out over three to five separate books. And once all the T's have been crossed, and I's have been dotted, it's time to stock up.<br/><br/>For Kyle, it's easy; find the racks of hand-gun ammo, and requisition four clips of 5.7 ammunition for his sidearm. And, on a whim, he decides to look and see if the company has any match-grade .300 rounds to offer... after all, why feed Wanda flank steak when she can have sirloin? Once he's gotten his needs, he tosses the scanner to the next person in the queue, and moves to one side to wait for the rest of the unit to make their way out to the Russian and their waiting ride.