SCRA Recruitment Centre

[jammi]

Nicholai Markov had been a maintenance worker for the last four years. His father had been a maintenance worker for his entire life too, that is, until a Commissar discovered he'd been re-routing classified message dump reports and airlocking them. He'd deserved to die as a traitor, and the family had agreed. As a tribute to the recruiting Commissar, he carried his father's orange overalls under his arm, folded neatly so as to clearly display the single blood stained bullet hole on the front.

He was wearing his People's Coalitionary Rest and Relaxation Garments, as approved by the Commissariat, instead of his regular orange overalls. He only wore them when he was on duty in the lower engineering levels of Zvezdny, or assisting the trained engineers with swapping out damaged modules on Partisans and Insurgents. They didn't trust him not to screw the Revolutions up though. The PRRGs were far more comfortable.

He approached the outer office warily, then knocked to enter. Opening the door a moment later, he found himself in a spartan waiting room; a secretary was sat behind a desk. "Mr. Markov? Your appointment is in a moment. The Commissar is currently occupied with her business. Please take a seat." This was punctuated by three gunshots in rapid succession, followed by a sickening crunch and thud.

He took a seat, and placed the ruined overalls on the chair next to him. The door swung open and a man adorned in orange overalls scurried through. He waved weakly at his fellow maintenance worker then hurried away into the office with a mop and a large black sack.

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