Four slots will be open to any and all.
Those four will trade death in a 'training' bounty.
Needless to say.
The best merc wins.
There will be a chance for the ones that failed to re-apply, but only thrice.
On the third failure, you're out and you should get a day job. Like a toilet-lady, exotic dancer or something.
There's a vast job opportunity in the pillow making business as well.
----Rules----
The Reaver. Merc. Co. reserves the right to put a bullet into your brain, your stomach and shove a living snake up your behind at any given time.
No shooting between 'trainee' Reavers while on hunting.
Out of it, you can squirm, punch, kick and bite your ears off.
We're trying to install a healthy cooperative mercenary business here.
Trainees will have access to some of our weaponry and tech.
Only four slots at a time.
Sh** happens.
Trainees will have to follow our naming convention. That means we get to name your hide.
3rd strike, you're out for good.
Trainees cannot get in the way of Malachite's carnal appetites.
Trainees will help Cobalt with his Dual Nova target practice.
They will be at a 50 feet minimum distance from the Company Boss, at all times.
If not, the boss will rip you a new one, burn your eyes with the $_$ brand and tell you to help the fantastic Angry Farmers of Kusari. With your hands tied to your ears.
*Sighs* And you will kneel to Zod.
Pass the most important sandwich construction test.
There might be some extra rules. We don't want to scare you lot with the serious stuff.