The house would be behind on payments before I ever made it back to Texas.

I logged out of the portal and got up from the metal folding chair.

I crossed the gravel compound toward the secure phone booths.

The sun pounded the corrugated metal roofs of the barracks.

Dust puffed up around my boots with every step and stuck to the grease on my uniform pants.

I went into booth number three and closed the heavy steel door.

It was barely wide enough for my shoulders and smelled faintly of industrial bleach.