SCRA Recruitment Centre

[Fro]

Captain Fro, still unknowing of what he was going to say to the recruiting Officer, adjusted his tie and collar. He could already feel the perspiration forming from his scalp. He walked past the make-shift line of pilots, who seemed more worried about social endeavors, and knocked on the open door before entering.

A distressing feeling birthed in Fro's stomach, you know, the kind you get when you're in arm's length of a superior. It slowly dissipated as he began his monologue.

"How goes it Chief? The name's Fro, Fro Greene." He tried not to notice the Officer's growing expression of boredom. "I was born, rather... abandoned, in Gallia. A group of Junkers found me propped up against a dumpster and took me in. Taught me the ropes. Though fate is not without a sense of irony, and on my eighteenth birthday, I was yet again abandoned. And so I took to deep space with my Bull Dog fighter, scouring for meaning, purpose, and life beyond that of scrap gathering."

Fro felt he was rambling, he took a breathe and continued hastily. "On my journey I ran into a SCRA Commander. This commander told me many stories of the SCRA, he told me stories of honorable men, of honorable cause, and pointed me to this recruitment office. I wish to fight for purpose, for cause... for SCRA!"

[Magoo!]

"...Very poetic. But we're revolutionaries, not poets." She sighed heavily. "Have you had any combat experience whatsoever?"

"Every great movement which strives for success has behind it the words to sway the masses, no? However,"

"I have thrown the gauntlet on numerous occasions and seem to maintain a healthy heartbeat. The weapons of choice in such duels have been needling sidearms or a Bretonian officer's saber. But... In space? Not so much. Unless you're looking for turret operators. Yet I am made to think that anything can be learned."

He looked around shifty-eyed.

"Of course this past time I was met on the field of honor rendered me at your doorstep, but the Renaissance Man was a small price to pay for defending the reputation of," he hesitated, "One of your officers from the accusations of the Libertonian ehm... Dreadnought."

[Petitioner]

Adam looked at the man who had just entered the office, hoping for the sake of the stranger, and his already tattered coat, that he was not blown away in the fashion of the last one. He made up his mind, that after that man was... taken care of, regardless of the manner of such, he would be next. He blinked and nodded to himself, standing up straight, purposely setting himself apart from the other would-be soldiers in the room.

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[Silver.2]

The man looked back at his...er..."guard", harboring a strange look of anxiousness and overwhelming caution upon his face. The recruiting officer had just stepped out of the room, into his own office, and left the air of the room in a decidedly tense state.

Tugging at a coat fringe with his left hand, still more-or-less straight at his side, he began to speak, a slight Bretonian accent twisting through his speech.

"You know, my friend...in the case that I do die, which appears to be more likely with every second, I would very much enjoy a shot at what I came here for..." He flipped an eyebrow towards the office door, trying desperately to suggest a change of scenery. "With all respect, sir...I'd like you to consider taking the recuiting officer up on his offer of entrance, into his office...when possible."

The man breathed in, and let out a quick, near-inaudible sigh. He just had to take what came, now. This was his shot - whether it ended here, in that office, or in trials to come was something he'd find out soon enough.

[Johnny_Walker]

nothing

[pieguy259]

"Then you would need intensive fighter training... Excuse me." She stepped outside her office. "Comrade Zavid, please step one foot to the right."
The bemused man did so.
"Good." She keyed in her code on a keypad on the wall. The ceiling and floor plates directly above and below Zavid hummed, then released a massive electrical charge through the applicant's body. He flopped to the ground, smoking and smelling slightly of cooked meat.
"Clean that up," she said to a maintenance worker, who went to fetch a body bag.
She went back into her office. "Where were we? Ah, yes. Explain to me, briefly and without any flowery language, exactly what Communism is."

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PanGalactic Travel Company | PanGal Feedback | PanGal Recruitment

[arvg]

Alvarez sighed and drew his pistol, "I said 'Next' Hermanos... and in simple English that is a command. If you cannot follow a simple command then I don't want any of you. Get the hell out of my office!"

He leveled his gun at first one, then the next. "Three...."

"Two..."

Pasha shrugged, "I'd start running Comrades, he doesn't make jokes about this!"

---

[Silver.2]

One gun in the recruiting officer's hand.

One gun at his chest.

The man sighed. So, this was it. If he ran, the guard would blow a hole in him. If he stayed, the officer would put a bullet straight through his head.

For a few small seconds, time seemed to almost stop for him.

After a quick moment's contemplation, he made a decision - If he were to die, then he shall do so standing strong, dingified. It didn't matter, anymore. He gave a slight smirk, not enough to see, but enough for he himself to feel.

Back straight.

Head level.

Eyes forward.

He slowly turned his head towards the recruiter, staring as close to the barrel as possible, studying it as he counted down another tick.

[arvg]

Alvarez's gun barked twice, shooting Adam and Fro, dropping them both. He glanced at them writhing in pain and clutching at the holes in their bodies. They'd live, but they wouldn't be a part of the Coalition that day.

"Get these two into a shuttle and off of my ship!" Alvarez ordered. "I don't like muppets, and these two stink of incompetence. They can reapply when they learn about the Coalition and about following orders... as for you..."

His gun settled on the defiant one. "Tell me what was the International?" His eyebrow quirked. "And I am warning you, don't get this one wrong."

---

[Wolfs Ghost]

He had been leaning on the wall for quite sometime, hearing the cockiness in the recruiters voice and the fear in the recruits voice. That fear made him smile a bit. He glanced over to see one of the recruiters, Alvarez, holding a gun to some lads head. Another person had spoke up, "I'd start running comrades, he doesn't joke around!"

That made him smile even more, and he even whispered to himself, "Neither do I." Following those words, he pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the man with the pistol pointed at his forehead, which suddenly wasn't pointed at the mans forehead anymore but being fired off at the other two, chaps, in the room. "Just opened the spot for another recruit, always a good deed, I'm sure your family will know of your sacrifice." He patted the man on his shoulder before taking a step back, letting his cold gaze land on the recruiter. "I take it I'll be next after this one, seeing as you just made the line shorter. Sir."

His accent was unmistakably Bretonian. No doubt a civilian from the working class on Leeds. Who had fled from the war to seek...well he never really thought about what he was after. It certainly wasn't vengeance, and that wasn't something he wanted.

But enough small talk. He held his position behind the man that was about to be laid to waste. He knew what the Coalition was capable of, as far as the news made them out to be, and being a former member of the working class, freedom from Capitalist pigs seemed to be in his favor at the moment. Although, the future may or may not hold a place for him here. Only time could tell.

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