SCRA Recruitment Centre

[DarthBindo]

Ian's face fell as his eyes unfocused and stared at the the files in the Commissar's hands.
"Admiral Cain is gone. Nobody knows where, she just....disappeared. With her went Task Force Seven. You must understand, most of the member of the Seven were Primary fleet rejects, either kicked out, denied, or quit of their own volition. When i took up with the Commanders Cain, i burnt my connections with most of the High Command. And once your application to the Primary gets rejected, that's it. Good night, and don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. Not that they would have booted me, but looking forward to twenty years of playing traffic cop or responding to natural disasters wasn't what i had in mind."
He slammed the rest of the vodka, twirling the cup as it caught the faint light and cast patterns on his skin.
"And Zanders and Hale and Anderson and the like...they believe too much in the system, and not enough in the system's purpose. I saw a good man murdered afore my eyes simply for flying the wrong ship, and countless others ruined for who they chose as friends."
He shifted in the seat, his eyes coming up and staring dreamily.
"They...they aren't good people. Once i was on patrol with Officers Ryan and Kunz in Manhattan, and we came across these pirates, a gunboat and three snubcraft. Well, of course we had no intention of going peacefully, and they had no intention of letting us go. We had a couple a seconds before they closed, and i managed to get a transmission off to Lietenant Zanders and Ensign Blue, who we had just passed. We fought back, knowing that any second backup would come, and we would win. But it didnt. I mean, he got the damn message. I KNOW he got the damn message, i double-checked it myself!"
Ian paused, collecting himself.
"When the bastard attended the funerals it was the last straw. I punched him in that smug face, drafted a nasty letter to Hale, and got the hell out of Dodge."
His voice was becoming increasingly animated, as hidden emotions roiled to the surface.
"And from there, where the hell was i supposed to go? Back to the Corsairs, maybe, but i had more than enough senseless family violence in my youth, and i'm an old man now gorramit. I need something to believe in, something that's not xenophobic nationalism or ignorant terroristic idealism. And that's where you come in."
He set the glass down and gestured around the office.
"You come from a long tradition, aye, and carry old ideals, but your nation is young enough yet to know that the system is but a tool, to know the ultimate goals. In the Navy or the Corsairs this exam would be carried out in great chambers meant to intimidate, not in a small friendly one-on-one."
He paused in the middle of jabbing his finger at the Commissar's chest to reinforce his point.
Something is wrong here. All the rumors and stories point to horrific acts of violence, torture, murder, maiming and amputating. Why the hell am i getting the nice treatment? Vodka from the Commissar's own stock, talk amongst old veterans, no bullets in my kneecaps.
He had been trained twenty years ago to notice such incongruities, but time, vodka and gin had dulled his sense. Either something was horribly wrong, or the Coalition had gained a new, kinder, gentler face.
Heh. The odds on that are about as good as the odds on sleeping with Alison Cain. Course, nothing's truly impossible.

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gone four years, first day back: Zoners still getting shot in Theta :|