SCRA Recruitment Centre

[Inquisitor Gaunt]

He tightened his posture upon being addressed, clenching his jaw for a moment of consideration before replying.
"Heard you lo' were recruitin', lookin' f'new pilots and the likes. I'm 'ere t'volunteer f'such a job, sir. Figure if I'm gonna' join a cause, it should be f'the lads 'oo might be workin' to the same goals as I, eh?"
His ritual for shutting his mouth now seems rather set in stone. Finish speaking, tighten his hand's grip, tense his jaw, relax.

---

[Tabris]

As the alarms sounded Ben scrambled out of the office, running down the corridors towards the bridge, almost knocking over a crewman who was running towards his battle-station further down the halls.

Muttering a fast apology he continued on, to the bridge, as he entered he gave a nod to Alvarez.

"Comrade-Captian." He spoke before heading to his position near the Holographic Tactical Table, observing each move carefully as he observed the signals of the hostile Titans.

Leaning past one of the junior officers he put on one of his wireless headsets and linked it to Red Squadron's Tactical-Communications channel.

"Comrade-Captain, fighters are scrambling as ordered and moving to defensive positions." he said, pointing to a small group of new signals on the board that was launching as they spoke.

[arvg]

Alvarez's jaw locked as he eyed the recruit, "Si..."

The ship shuddered under the hammering of weapons-fire on the shields.

Alvarez nodded his head to Ben, "they picked this fight, Hermano. We shall finish it... You!" he pointed to the recruit. "You see that weapons console over there, si? You will take control of the pulse cannon..."

"Captain?" The TNC-officer asked in surprise. "He isn't trained..."

Alvarez rounded on him, drilling a finger into his chest, "Do...not...question...my...orders...capiche?"

The short, angry man turned on the recruit again, as the Titans took another strafing run. "You want to prove your worth, esse? Get in the chair!"

---

[Inquisitor Gaunt]

He shrugged before cracking a grin, rolling his shoulders in anticipation. Without anything more than a nod of appreciation and a smile to follow, he sat at the fire control console, planting his hands on the controls.

"Nice n' easy..." he noted, sighting up the weapon while his spare hand fiddled with the control options. "Jus' like one of our prissy li'le transport guns."

The gun responded fluidly to his touch, before he looked up at communications headset. He threw a glance to Alvarez; "I alrigh' t'tap into your comms, sir, or 'at a bit restricted?"

---

[arvg]

Its open, frequency is button four, Alvarez reached out and drew Warners Tokarev TT-33, pressing it to the base of the recruits skull, leaning in. You mess up, homes, and I am going to spray your brain matter all over this console, si?

The pair of dorsal mounted Solaris cannons hammered at the Titans, while the cruiser broke from the cover of Cadiz, sliding like a hungry shark towards the Trotsky.

Alvarez hid a sly smile, yes, come closer he murmured, eyeing his prey.

Tell me, he leaned in to look over the applicants shoulder. What three things are key to a successful revolution?

---

[Tabris]

Ben ignored the activity in the background in favor of helping coordinate the fighters.

"Red Squadron, this is Trotsky, we have multiple boogies inbound, pair off and pick your targets as they come into range, but be mindful of heavy-armaments fire from homebase." he ordered, watching as the enemy patrol came in for a strafing run he nodded.


"Red Squadron, intercept the following targets, marked, Tango Four, Tango Seven and Tango Eight, be mindful of the possibility of them being Fighter-Bombers." he spoke as he watched a small group of their fighters veer off to intercept the marked targets while the rest of the squadron kept their escorts busy.

[arvg]

Alvarez looked at the cruiser closing on them, "we do not have all day, esse, you want to give me an answer homes, or am I going to have to do my decorating a little earlier than usual?"

---

[Inquisitor Gaunt]

The Newcastler tracked the incoming Praefect, his body bracing subconsciously against the chair as he answered, half-wincing at the barrel's presence.

"First thing y'gonna need is a cause..."
The Praefect edged closer, the gun's readout marking it at just over five K's from a viable striking distance.
"Y'ain' gonna have no people t'work with'ya unless you give 'em a reason, could be like 'ow those Kusari babes do it, n'fight for a specific group's right, like women..."
Four K's
"Or it could be like m'old lot, the Mollys, fightin' for miners, a job instead'a somethin' you're given since birth, though 'ow we were, bein' a miner is something y'get from birth."
Three K's
"Then y'gonna need a reasonable line'a supply. Y'ain't gonna have no one stand a'side ya if y'can't show y'able to help 'em, eh?"
Two K's
"Not that I'm sayin' supporters are just there f'your goods, mind. Kinda brings y'back to the first point, gotta have a cause, one people are gonna' legitly follow..."
One K
"And a'course y'need people t'follow that cause, t'stand alongside ya' when everything goes tits up.."
Firing range. Simon didn't hesitate as soon as the cruiser sunk into his cross-hairs. The pulse guns whined as they discharged their shots, static rippling along the opposing vessel's shields as the round wrapped its way around them. He gritted his teeth, snatching back again and again on the trigger as the weapon recycled...

---

[arvg]

Alvarez snorted, straightening up, "Helm, hard over, get us some distance... give me some evasive maneuvers..."

The Trotsky burst into action, slipping through the asteroids that the larger cruiser was having a harder time navigating, slipping through the rocks as the corsair weapons slammed into rocks, exploding ineffectually.

"Zero thrust, turn as about two cables port..." Alvarez commanded, grabbing up his coffee cup and riding the deck as it heaved under him.

"The first part of a successful revolution is Democratic reform, without it we are doomed to the slavery of the upper classes... the bourgeoisie, who have already bought their power, and will use it to crush your voice."

The Trotsky pivoted on its axis, training its main cannons on the corsair cruiser.

"FIRE!" Alvarez commanded, as the mortar blared, streaking with perfect precision at the cruiser.

He sipped his coffee, "the second thing needed is economic reform, for without it, any democratic reform you try shall suffer from corruption and decay. For those that have money, they shall always seek to use that money to exploit the weak."

"Sir, incoming fire..." the TNC announced.

Alvarez smiled tightly as he held onto the back of the gunnery chair as the weapons fire smashed into the shields.

"And the last thing you need is the will of the people, for without that, you will fail!"

He smiled, "Helm hard over, full speed, take us around them... hit them with a CD... now!"

Nodding in satisfaction as his nimble ship out flanked the cruiser he looked again at the applicant.

"Are communists against the accumulation of wealth?" he asked taking another drink.

---

[Inquisitor Gaunt]

The Molly continued to track the cruiser, hammering at its shields whenever they managed to give a strangled revival.

"From what I can tell, it ain't the accumulation a'wealth that's so bad, but keepin' it f'yourself's a different story..."

The cannon continued to refire, cycling a consistent fwump of the gun's discharge followed by its power's floodgates opening, to recharge the weapon's capacitors.

"Believe me, sir, that ain't just a communist thing, 'at's just comradary in general, oi? If you're workin' alongside the same bloke in some gakin' mine, day in, day out, y'get close to em, don't'cha? When we was workin' for the BMM, a paycheck wasn't an opportunity to buy y'self some fancy three hundred inch flat-screen TV, it meant y'housin' block was gonna' eat for the night, then you 'oped that HR didn't stiff ya' on the next one, in case y'let y'buddies down."

He continued to track the target he'd been assigned, the shield generators under great strain now to reboot while the Trotsky continued to hammer at its hull.

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