"You are an Outcast," she said, not bothering to hide her ancestral hatred. "Peddlers of the filthy orange poison. I've killed many of you in my time, and I may just kill another today... of course, I am first required to ask you questions." She didn't seem happy with this. "First question. How do you expect to support yourself? We don't hand out Cardamine-" she spat this word - "on street corners."
Down the halls from Alvin's office, a SCRA Lt was sitting in a chair with a copy of "The People's News", the crashing of glass, screams of slight panic and also the audible sound of a body breaking said glass was heard. But all the Lt did was shake his head slightly, lowering the paper just enough for him to peek over at the devestation the Bot had done to the youth. As he shook his head he muttered a single sentence that perfectly defined how he felt about the youth.
"Moronic Fool" Ben Warner whispered before raising the "Newspaper" back up once again and continuing to read the lastest news of the Revolution in other parts of Sirius.
"I expect to do so, by killing the very ones who I once called my brethren, they operate nearly everywhere, so, I suppose that when my mask runs low on Cardamine, I would have to kill one of those whom I know despise at once calling my brothers. Tractor in their escape pod, and take the Cardamine they once owned for myself" She replied very confident in her answer, for it was the truth, and she had thought she would do so from the moment she turned her back on the Outcasts.
Katz stood in the place that Vicenta had stood, pushing a bloody handkerchief into his pocket and pulling out his pocket watch checking the time, looking up at the newcomer entering the room.
He studied the face, the walk, taking it all in as he gauged the arrival.
The door was open, you heard what happened, he said simply, sinking his hands into his pockets and bouncing on the balls of his feet lightly, as behind him through the shattered glass panels, maintenance crews were trying to put out a burning console in the CIC. The Coalition is a harsh place, why do you think we need to be so careful about who we allow into the Fighter Corps?
Briccant did not expect the question. Admittedly, he did not know what to expect. He took in a deep breath and spoke.
"Yes, sir. I did, sir." He responded automatically. He gulped. He was unsure whether he should have addressed it.
"I think the Coalition needs to be careful so that the integrity of the organisation is kept intact. That is, the strongest and most efficient survive, making the Coalition stronger and more efficient. It also helps the organisation function as one autonomous body as everyone shares the same thoughts, especially thoughts of preservation and protection of the Coalition. That, and potential traitors need to be weeded out, so that they cannot weaken the organisation."
Briccant made a microsecond of eye contact, then looked away. He was unsure if he was meant to look the person in the eye. His body was tense and he could feel an itch in his back, but he did not dare to scratch it.
Insanity endangers us all, Katz said calmly, almost paternally.
This mans beliefs would lead him to underestimate the blue menace out on the frontier an underestimation that could cost has cost the Coalition many lives up to this point. All it takes is one foot wrong and he could doom us all. We dont take such risks, not with our people, were strong because we must be. We are the shield of the Proletariat, and the hammer that strikes down our enemies.
He walked over to the table and picked up his teacup, taking a drink. Whats your story? Why are you here today? What was your path to the Coalition?
There was a buzz, and one of the three lights on the wall winked out.
"Wrong answer," she said coldly. "Your addiction makes you weak. We cannot afford weakness in the Coalition. Do you honestly expect Outcasts to waltz by with enough of a supply to keep you going every day? You will be expected to overcome your dependency on that noxious drug. Otherwise, you will be killed. Either by the withdrawal, or by us. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, Vargas. You have two more chances."
There was a pause.
"Do you think you are strong enough to overcome your addiction?"
Not even a second after the door to the waiting hall opened, Victor Craw literally flew in and hit the ground face first. The guard responsible for the rather impressive kick couldn't help it but to go one better by linguistic means:
"Not so 'awesome' now, are you, you pathetic brat? Worthless outside of a cockpit!"
He sighed - and pointed with his open hand at Victor who still lay on the ground.
"Of course such loosers have to arrive just when I'm about to start my shift on this deck. I'm sick of dragging dead bodies around. Bah."
Victor waited until the heavy, automated doors closed behind the leaving guard. Still holding his running nose, he boldly decided to stand up for his own.
"I'd take you any time man! You and me! Getting down right here! One on one!"
He looked at his hand to see if his nose was bleeding. Fortunately for him, it wasn't. Seeing blood always made him feel nauseous.
Then he took a quick look around to check if him bravely challenging a closed door made an impression on anyone. But it didn't. The only other four people who sat in the waiting hall were either dead or too intoxicated to notice. Hopefully intoxicated, that is. He decided to take a seat as far away as possible from the fresh corpses.
Nausea started to slowly crawl up his stomach.
Alexial was very startled at having gotten the answer wrong, in fact she was scared beyond belief, she felt as though her fate was already sealed, but she continued in defiance and began to answer the next question.
"Yes, I believe so, I have made it half way across Sirius to join the Sirius Coalition Revolutionary Army, and I will not let a curse of birth stop me. I do not think I am strong enough to overcome my Cardamine addiction, I know so otherwise there would have been no point in abandoning those wretched Outcasts," She answered this question trying to keep the fear out of her voice.