SCRA Recruitment Centre

[arvg]

There were no chairs in the office beyond a small utilitarian one tucked into an L-shaped work desk in the corner. Instead the room was dominated by a large glass work table piled over with stacks of field manuals, research reports, charts and recon photos.

Commissar-Captain Katz stood behind this table, his sleeves rolled up, and the black waist coat he favoured pinned with his uniform insignia. He didnt look much like an officer, but then he didnt resemble much of a civilian either. Too much had gone by for him to be considered either.

The office was kept dark, back lit display cases and shelves lining two walls loaded with books. All uniform, all with matching covers. Each important for political theory, or military theory, or scientific theory, there was no questioning Katzs academic past.

He kept a pair of large bored revolvers tucked into holsters under his arms, the peaked cap slightly askew as he smoked a cigarette, the tendrils of smoke coiling up towards the overhead lights.

I am glad to see you here, old friend, Katz said quietly. An edge in his tone that said everything that transpired was deadly serious. But there are no special favours granted to old friends here. You have to answer my questions, and answer them as honestly as you can. If you lie Pasha over there

He nodded behind Ben, to where Chief Petty Officer Byk was standing, a double barreled shotgun nestled into the crook of his arm, ready at any moment to do his Commissars bidding.

Katz cleared his throat, rolling the cigarette to the other side of his mouth. So of the Hispania trash, which do you reckon is worst, Casts or Sairs, and why?

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