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!"
