Name: Jason Gorski
Age: 22
Height: 6'0"
Weight: 195 lbs
Hair Color: Brown
Eye color: Blue
Attributes: 1).Strong like a Lion 2.) Tough as a Rhino 3.) Intelligent
The Coalition is the life for me. I have been wanting to join as a child. Here is the story...
My father and Mother were both Military officers serving on Battleship Obal that was assigned to protect the coalition ships from attack on the journey to the sirus system. It was in my blood to become a soldier and work my way up the ranks from the start. However, I was in cryo stasis at this time, the sleeper ships became under attack by a brutal attackers from deep space... their ships were blue in color and had to much power they over came the battleship. The sleeper ship stayed intact however...the battleship was lost in the skirmish battle. I lost both my mother and father that day. When I awoke from my chamber I saw a new life, new freedoms. I decided from then on I would carry on my families legacy in the Coalition army. As I got older I did well in school, and trained physically just as hard. Over the years I also attend many military hand to hand combat and leadership courses. It was a Grueling 12 years since that day and I am now 22 and want to join the Coalition to serve a purpose, serve my country and bring strength and honor to my name.
*Transmission end*
<span style="font-family:Comic Sans Ms"><span style="color:#CC0000">"I want to hear you beg for your life"</span></span>
SenderID: Commissar Ussaim Rashid
Location: Freeport 4
To: Comrades Vladimir Spindorov, Grigory Breznev and Jason Gorski
Subject: Recruitment
Good day comrades. As you are aware coalition training facility is not very big and cannot support too much recruits. All of your applications are still in consideration pile but for now they are POSTPONED untill further notice. Please stand by.
To all you would be recruits, recruitment is as well POSTPONED and applications sent after this message will not be considered unless stated otherwise.
Subject: Apllication for the SCRA
From: Planet Gran Canaria; Gregorsky Petrov
To: SCRA
Name: Gregorsky (Gregor) Petrov
Age: 55
Height: 1.80 m
Good day,
to introduce myself im Gregorsky Petrov but you can call me Gregor.
I want to join the SCRA since I was studying at the cambrigde university.
I thought the day would never come and I would never had the chance to send this message to you.
Here are the informations about me: Red Wings
I hope it includes all you need to know. IF not just ask me.
' Wrote:To all you would be recruits, recruitment is as well POSTPONED and applications sent after this message will not be considered unless stated otherwise.
The Commissar's door was locked. Not that he took applications that weren't made in person anyway, but, for the moment, he was too busy training more literate newcomers.
Transmission to: SCRA Commissars
Comm ID: Commissar-Captain Al-Rashid
Comrades, be advised, I have spoken to a single potential recruit by the name of Zachary Quirm, he should be proceeding to Freeport Two as I speak. He shall be considered for application, as I believe he is well suited to the Coalition's Cause. All other applications are still closed, however.
Jack Handey Wrote:I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.
Traffic to the Freeport was slow yet again. There had been reports that the Rheinland and Liberty militaries had taken more active stances on the embargo, now that war had been formally declared, which had somewhat culled the numbers of visitors. They still let in the occasional refugee, as well as the usuals. So what if half of them were on the wrong side of the law? They respected the Freeport laws and paid good money. The docking controller was shaken from his reflections as a pilot hailed the tower. Granting him entrance to the docking bays, he went back to his thoughts.
Outside, the dark silhouette of the pilot rubbed his temples. If the stories were true, although most of the ones he'd heard he'd put down as exaggeration and myths leaked from the inside to create fear and respect, this would not be easy.
2300 Hours Freeport 2, Bering Sector
He couldn't take it any more. Perhaps he was being impatient, but he'd been standing in front of the desk for twenty minutes watching the woman write, but she hadn't so much as acknowledged his presence. I'm here to apply for the SCRA! The Coalition!
Finally, the lady looked up. Eager aren't you? she said, smiling. Stories or not, he was starting to have second thoughts. This was more the smile of a predator before its pray than one somebody would use on a friend. Well we're closed. You'll have to come by tomorrow. Noting the slightly dismayed look, she added Look, leave me your name and your room number and I'll see if we can slot you in early.
Zachary Quirm. Room 267, East Wing. Errr... The stories aren't true, are they? That you kill your failed applicants?
Again the sickening smile. Depends why they failed.
0230 Hours Room 267, East Wing, Freeport 2, Bering Sector
Wham!
With a resounding crash, the doors of the room blew open, revealing a massive set of matte-black battle armour, bristling with weapons. A Red Star gleamed from the breastplate, and a glaringly white searchlight speared from the left hand.
"On your feet, scum!" Shouted the armoured figure. "Zachary Quirm?" Inquired the suited monster in the doorway.
"Ye-yessir! What's going o-" Spluttered the man on the floor, clutching his bedclothes.
"HEY!" Boomed the figure. "I'm Major Bigeard, Sirius Coalition Marines, and I'll be asking the bloody questions around here! Right then!" He turned, and gestured another, smaller figure into the room, setting the wreckage of the door back in its frame behind him. With a flick of the switch, the lights came on, and the Marine Major leaned against it.
The smaller, unarmoured figure was clad in the midnight black dress uniform of the SCRA, festooned with medal ribbons, and carrying a massive sidearm. His nametag read "Weise", and he bore the stripes of a commander. One trained in the decorations of the Coaliton would notice that he bore three small red stars, declaring him to be a three-time winner of the coveted "Hero of the Revolution". He smiled.
"Comrade, don't be so scared... we're just here to talk."
Zachary smiled, and began to rise from the floor, when Commander Weise grabbed him by the neck, pressed the sidearm to his temple, and began screaming in his ear.
"Are you a Spy?!"
"Wha-"
"SPIES! I KNEW it! I'll bloody KILL you, you slimy little sack of filth!"
"Hey! No, I'm no-"
"SPY!" Weise cocked the pistol, then slammed the butt into the unfortunate applicant's head. "Major!"
"Sir?" Bigeard stepped forward, lifting the minigun in his right hand like a toy.
"Lend me your knife there..."
With a grim chuckle, the massive marine tossed his 14" combat knife to his old friend. Weise grabbed it by the hilt, holstered his pistol, threw the semi-consious Zackary onto his bed, and stuck the top inch of the fighting knife up his nose.
"Now, Spy! Tell me who sent you!"
"I'm not a-" babbled Zachary, quivering with fear.
"SPY! I Bloody HATE Spies! I'm going to stick this ENTIRE knife up your nose if you don't tell me everything!"
"I'm not a spy! I swear it!"
A slow smile spread across Weise's face. "Are you sure?"
"Yessir! Positive!"
Weise removed the knife, and tossed it over his shoulder to Bigeard. Drawing his pistol with a flourish, he fired a barrage of .65 slugs into the wall behind Zachary's head, showering him in paint and chips of the bulkhead.
"Right! Training starts tommorow. Welcome to the revolution son!"
Weise turned as bigeard kicked down the door again, and as they both left, Zachary wondered what kind of crazy people did things like this. More gunshots echoed down the hall, and Zachary heard Weise yelling something about maintainence workers. 'Did he just shoot someone just for wearing orange coveralls? Oh, god...'
Jack Handey Wrote:I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.
A man wearing orange coveralls (with a suspicious blood spatter on the arm) winced as he placed a hand-drawn sign on the recruiting office door.
All Applications are hereby denied before you give them, unless you somehow manage to convince the duty commissar that you're some kind of demigod-like being. That is all.
-Commissar-Captain Al-Rashid
As the man walked away, shaking his head, a burst of gunfire nearly decapitated him, and as he scurried away on all fours a shout came behind him.
"There he is! Bloody get the little scumbag! I KNOW he stole my ship this time!"
Jack Handey Wrote:I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.
A man hesitantly walked into the Recruiting office. He'd seen the sign, now punctured with several extremely large slugs, but he had an advantage no-one else had.
The foyer appeared to be empty, although there was a strange buzzing sound coming from behind one of the three closed doors. Hughes (for that was the man's name) shrugged, and banged on the door. The noise continued unabated, and he shrugged again.
Must be a faultly light fixture or something...
He put on his best face of boldness, straightened his orange flightsuit, and stepped inside. Oddly enough, the lights were out, and the noise appeared to be coming from behind the desk. As the door hit the wall with a dull 'thud', the buzzing abruptly stopped.
"Uuuh.. Hello? Is there anyone here?" Inquired Hughes, nervously taking another step and flicking on the lights. It sounded like someone was vomiting behind the massive, scarred desk, so he took another step and looked down.
Commander Eugen Weise lay on the floor, puking into a coffee cup that appeared to have been overflowing for some time. As Hughes moved in front of the lights, he looked up, his eyes squinted, and took in the Orange flightsuit. His eyes narrowed, and he reached into his pistol holster and pulled out a silver flask, holding it menacingly.
"Erm, Hi! I'm Jamie Hughes, and someone told me to come down here and apply? I'm a pretty good pilot, flew with the Unioner Blitzi Squadron for a while, and... What are you doing? Are you sick?
Eugen pulled himself to his feet, pointed the flask at the husky looking man before him, and attempted to squeeze the trigger. Oddly enough, his flask lacked a trigger mechanism, as he realised a second later when the unfortunate person in front of him failed to explode. He thew it at his head, instead.
"Ouch! What'd you do that for?"
"YOU! What am I doing down here? Why is there puke on me?! What did you do with my ship, you maintainence scumbag! I'll f*cking kill you! I'll raugh!
Move vomit splattered on the floor, and on Hughes' boots. He took a step back in horror, but Eugen was right there with him. Reaching down to his boots, he drew another, smaller flask from a smaller holster, placed it against Hughes' head, and squeezed. Realizing his mistake, he removed the stopper and took a long swig, then clocked Hughes over the head with it, and wtached him fall to the deck with a bemused expression.
"Huh. Not a maintainence worker then. Good thing I didn't shoot him... I think. So, I guess I'm the recruiting officer! He exclaimed proudly to the empty, reeking room.
"Someone take that bloody sign down! We're back in buisness, boyos!"
Eugen proudly sat down at his new desk, wearing a vomit-soaked, askew uniform, with most of the medals hanging the wrong way. He proudly surveyed his new office, complete with unfortunate applicant on the floor, and emptied liquor cabinet.
"First order of the day, refill that cabinet! Now, where's my piston to?"
After a swift search through the drawers of his new desk, he produced his .65 calibre pistol, a box of bullets, a ball of string, two more bottles of vodka, a broken glass, and a medal, which he examined closely befre he put it on upside down.
Several minutes later, an orange-suited man scurried up to the door and emplaced a new sign.
Recruiting is now open, no orange, BYOB, and wear body armour. It's ugly in here, people.
-Commander Eugen Weise
"Oy! Youse! Get Back here!"
As the man scurried away, a barrage of shots chewed the edge of the door off, and shattered the water fountain in the hall. Things were moving again.
Jack Handey Wrote:I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.
![[Image: sig-9566.jpg]](http://www.clintonio.com/sig-9566.jpg)
