SCRA Recruitment Centre

[arvg]

They wound through the Trotsky, and out over the hangar deck, onto the catwalks. Below the Insurgent fighters were being prepped for launch, and the CPW Social Credit was rolling through its preflight. The hangar was alive with coloured shirts, ordinance crews and marines. And over in one corner of it, the fight between Lt. Warner and another applicant was nearing its conclusion.

Katz sighed, resting his elbows on the railing.

We are good in a fight, thats true. But there is a reason for that unity. The question is, Jayce, do you really want to give up the life of a rogue to come fight for something worth fighting for?

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[Corsair]

Pekkala's eyes followed the slave ship captain as he ran his death throes. Her eyes flitted back to the recruitment officer. "I have been raised by my parents in the tradition of the Sol Coalition. The ideals of the Sirius Coalition Revolutionary Army differ very little from the ones I have been raised on. But this difference is to be expected, as it has taken my family nearly a millennium to reach this point. Now, we are here. I do not feel.. More privileged than others based on my descent alone. I came here to enlist as a soldier, for that is my place."

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[Jayce]

Jayce watched the fight rather intently before replying:
"Yeah. I sure am. What has being a Rogue ever gotten me? Shot. That's what. And what good is getting shot when you're not even getting shot for a good reason. If I'm going to be on the business end of a gun, then I want it to be for something good, not just for a load of cheap hookers and drugs on a Slave Liner."
Jayce unconsciously fiddled with the rod in his pocket, and when he became aware of what he was doing, he looked rather embarassed. "Not to mention, it's gotten pretty boring on Buffalo..."

---

[arvg]

The Coalition isnt a country club, were not here to entertain Katz motioned to Via, the metallic hand grabbed the rogue by the torso, yanking him up, as the arm swung outwards, suspending the struggling man over the hangar deck below.

People on the deck, alerted to the cry, looked up, a few of them scuttling out of the way to make sure they didnt get crushed when the Warbot dropped the offending Applicant.

The Coalition is at war, the revolution is lit across Sirius and it is burning, Katz continued to puff on his cigarette, looking at his old friend. The question is, Jayce, is there a Revolution burning inside of you? Or are you just bored?

---

[pieguy259]

"Your place is what we decide it is," Vicenta barked, slamming her hands on the table. "Do not presume to tell us your place! What can you give to the Coalition? Why should we choose you over the hundreds of other pathetic fools who strut in here? You say that do not think you are more privileged than others based on your descent alone. Why DO you think you are more privileged than others? Eh? Answer me!"

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[Jayce]

Jayce struggled for all of a few seconds, before he dropped his beer with a sigh. "Yes, old friend... There is. May not be the biggest, or the most important revolution, but it's mine, and that's something. I don't know how much that is worth to you, but for me... Well... I'm just me, aren't I?" Jayce looked at the arm holding him over the railing, before starting again: "No. You know what? That's the kind of thinking that got me into the Rogues, but that's the kind of thing that gets you killed out here. You can't just go around with your head down, moping; you have to keep yourself up, because we all have a destiny. And mine is here I guess. Either I fall, head hung low; or I survive, head held high, knowing I might salvage some part of my being, and make something of myself."

---

[Corsair]

"Because," Pekkala said, meeting her superior's eyes, "I know what we are fighting for. I have been trained for it. I did not come here to waste anybody's time. I did not come with the thought that I could simply give a half-assed effort and walk away. I came here, knowing that I would either serve the Revolution or die trying."

Her eyes stayed passive as she began, "I have been trained in flying fighter and bomber ships since I was a small girl. My mother and father drilled military discipline into me. Most of the 'pathetic fools' who come here do not know what could possibly await them. I have been raised to possess the skills needed to not break under pressure." She gave her head a small tweak to the right, throwing some hair out of her eyes.

---

[arvg]

The beer bottle had shattered on the deck below.

Katz continued to stare vacantly at the bulkhead, as if contemplating what Jayce had said.

He glanced back at Brooks a moment. His gaze lingering there a heart beat.

I have seen you fight, Katz said evenly. Out here and on Denver

The other fight was attracting a crowd, as Lt. Warner seemed to be getting the upper hand.

I dont need to test your resolve, but I am going to test that addled brain of yours Go to Vicentas office, tell her to give you a package of papers. Fill them out and hand them back to her if were satisfied that you actually have neurons firing up there he sighed. Let him go Via

The look on Jayces face was priceless as the Mech opened his hand, the Rogue slipping through the giant fingers as he began to fall

Stop! Katz ordered.

The Mech closed his fingers again, painfully on the arm, as Jayce dangled threateningly.

I meant put him down on the catwalk, Katz corrected, rolling his eyes.

Via complied, as Jayce cradled his wrenched arm painfully.

Katz shrugged, sorry now I must depart. Good luck Jayce.

---

[Jayce]

Jayce cradled his arm as he walked Vincenta's office, wondering whether he was cut out for this. He stopped for a moment, before continuing, faster and with more purpose. He knew he was cut out for this, this was what he was meant to do. He tapped on the door of the office, wincing as he realized he used his possibly broken arm to rap on the door. "Alvin told me to get some papers..." Jayce stammered out...

---

[Sprolf]

The frail old man waited in a small, cramped room not unlike those precursor to doctor visits. Over the course of several hours, he had waited more or less patiently, drifting in and out of a light sleep. Whenever his back pain worsened, a few pain pills washed down with a strange, purple liquid in a flask on his leg would provide some relief.

The other men and women in the room, few as they are, eyed him with curiosity. Old as he was, he made for a rather rare eyesore in any military organization. They saw him as one with the wreath of death wrapped around his neck; the Commissar's weapon already smoking over his crumpled body. As time passed, each of them was summoned, and seen no more. Sometimes they would vanish from the room only to be followed by the sound of a gunshot. Some fared better, and made their way elsewhere to a future of glorious service.

After the quantity of applicants had dwindled, the man looked down at his old, gnarled hands wryly. He turned the ring on his finger, eyes twinkling, recalling some distant chain of events with a soft smile. Turning his eyes to the door, he pondered his reasons for being here. Perhaps, if the Commissar was young and rash, he would be killed for his age alone. His life flashed, as it had so many times in the past, before his eyes. Shaking his head, however, he dismissed the notion. What would happen would happen, when the time came.

Silence - as much could be expected.
The fans thrummed quietly as they had for hours.
The man across the room shifted nervously for the fifteenth time in the last hour.
Hearbeat in your ears, as it had been as long as you had been in this purgatory - forever, memory indicated. The past was a haze, occluded by the oppressive nothingness here that left one alone with his self.


Then, a break in it.
A steady clack of boots on an unseen hallway.
Coming closer. Stop, with a click. The swoosh of a cloak, or coat.
A foot moved.

The door suddenly opened in front the small old man, who glanced up at the sudden noise.


A comparably aged man stepped into the room, heading straight for the applicant, ignoring the others sitting around. He was old, yes, but his body was still lean and hard, and his preservation belied a life of hard military service and other difficult times, like he was tempered iron - and looked just as cold as well. He wore a long grey coat of the Coalition, trimmed with an odd blue that was not familiar. He had a tall, thin face, almost caricatured in appearance. A narrow pair of glasses perched atop his nose, disrupting the sharp glare of his eyes with their thin lenses as he looked down dryly at the shrivelled husk of man that sat before him, looking up at him.

He crossed his arms across his chest for a moment, and then looked down to adjust his glasses with one hand, that he promptly locked back in place.

"I will not ask you your name, as it is entirely unimportant, and I already know it... and your age is more evident than you would think." He bent down a little bit, closer to the man. His mouth was almost entirely expressionless, with just a hint of exasperation on it. "These simple questions do not matter. What matters is the single question I have for you now. What makes you so special that you would seek to join the Coalition?"

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