Alicia stood up, noting the blood, the mess and the gore, shaking her head at it all.
This round of interviews had been especially rough. Seven dead, others rejected... It had truly seemed as though all the Crazy people had picked this particular day to show up.
She walked around her desk, shrugging on her great coat and smiling at the Commissar-Commander tiredly.
"That seems to be it for now. There are a couple still filling in paperwork, but there appears to be no more applicants."
She glanced at the orange jump suited technicians who were standing ready to repair the damage and cart out the various carcasses that were left behind.
They would be spaced, as was typical of various forms of rubbish from the ship.
The Trotsky was already returning to the jump hole, and back to Omega-52, its mission complete for another day.
As everyone filed out of the rooms, she turned out the lights, pulling keys to lock the doors and setting the automated sign on the door.
Those applicants with paperwork would get their replies. But as for anyone else looking to join the Coalition:
//OOC- Limited run recruitment. APPLY IN PERSON. We Reserve the right to shoot people that apply Also we are looking for Newer players, or players with limited commitments to other factions. Thats right, we want them nice and tender for brain-washing.
CPW-Trotsky is a Coalition Cruiser, it is stationed at the jump hole to Omega-52 in the Omega-5 System. It has docking facilities capable of housing vessels of a broad array of types.
Some tips to recruitment:
1. If you have applied before and failed, take the lesson and apply again. This is the point, your interest is important, but so is common sense. Follow the rules.
2. Do not RP the Commissar or the other recruiters AT ALL, doing so is usually a reason to end the recruitment interview, it shows that you cannot follow instructions. We dont like it.
3. Show us you are a mature, responsible RP-minded individual. Give us a reason to want you please spare the melodramatic. And watch what you say. Caution and careful thought is important to the application. Were watching to see if, once you get our ships, you might run around causing problems to the server. Dont give us a reason to doubt you.
4. Have fun. Some people come to recruitment here for the epic deaths. If so, enjoy. You might be surprised at the result.
The office smelled of blood, booze, and various other unpleasant substances. It was often the beginning or end of possible recruits for the Coalition, and that oh-so disgusting coppery smell was a testament to the often-but-not end for them.
Alicia sat at her desk, looking over various files. She had just opened the office thirty minutes ago. Already, Angie was late. She walked into the door, wearing her officer's trench coat and a neatly groomed uniform. Her green eyes flicked this way and that, spotting various blood stains and the others who were to assist her with this recruitment.
Boris stood in a corner, opposite him was a hulking mass of steel that was Katz's personal death robot. It scared her to no ends, due to the massive Gatling weapon it held. It regarded her with red, focused eyes while Boris just took a long swig from a flask and nodded at her.
She stepped into the office, sitting down in the utilitarian office chair. A service pistol sat on the disk, a few clips of ammunition set neatly in a row beside it. With a sigh, Angie finally piped up, "Send in the first one, Alicia!"
"THE HULL HAS BEEN BREACHED AND THESCIENCEIS LEAKING OUT!"
Tired. I'm so tired of just sitting here. Doing what? Managing archives and writing daily action-reports conducted by other Coalition pilots. Those that actually have the chance to fly, in space.
I have never desired for a desk job but this is were I ended up, having practically no experience in combat what was I supposed to do? Naturally they sent me to this division.
At the age of sixteen I became the delivery boy. At the age of eighteen I initiated the work that I would carry out for five more years. Doing exactly the same thing day in, and day out. But on that late night, as I was just finishing my last paper I simply had enough. Like my mind had completely re-programmed itself. This routinized life could no longer be tolerated in my head.
I realized that no matter how much I complained at my fate, things would never change unless I personally decided it to happen. Taking out all the funds from my saving account I managed to scrap up enough money to purchase an older civilian vessel that had semi-working engines. I had to go through some humiliating steps such as begging an engineer to repair the ship so it would be space-ready.
Now, as I finished my shift I would no longer rush off towards home and sit there on the couch watching entertainment in order to cope with my misery. No. I would walk towards that hangar, get on that ship, and launch to space. I would practice. If fate wouldn't allow me to get proper combat training then I would defy its ruling and do so on my own!
Two years have passed since that enlightening day. I felt ready to battle. I felt that my life had a purpose again. The purpose of truly defending the Coalition.
I managed to collect the courage to speak with the Commissariat.
"Comrade Commissariat. I would like to be transferred to the military branch."
"What is your name, Comrade?"
"Vasily Ivankov."
"And why exactly do you wish to be transffered?"
"Because actions speaks louder than words and here I'm just managing words, Comrade Commissariat!"
"You have a brave spirit, but what about your combat experiences?"
"I have practiced on my own for two full years, I know I do not possess the standard training issued by the Coalition Boot Camp but I know how to fly my ship. My determination will be my weapon, Comrade Commissariat!"
"Normally I wouldn't allow something like this to ever come into consideration. But I'm willing to make an exception. For the betterment of the Coalition. You will hear from me by the end of this week."
Alicia looked up at the man curiously. She spoke softly when the man had finished, "Look. I'm not the Commissar. I'm the secretary. I suggest that you sit down and wait for me to call you up." She finished this off with a stern point towards the seat.
// Alright. Don't try and put words into our mouth. This isn't a one-sided conversation. Just come inside and sit down. Then wait.
"THE HULL HAS BEEN BREACHED AND THESCIENCEIS LEAKING OUT!"
A middle aged woman enters with a rather tentative aura. Parked in the cruiser's hanger is a simple Starflier with the mark of Interspace pasted on the side-- the tracking transponder also seems to have been hastily disconnected by someone with little technical experience. Her jaw is rather slack, suggesting potential unintelligent, perhaps? Regardless, she throws a furtive glance to the secretary, awaiting admission. In her hand she holds a small leaf of documents, things such as birth certificates and shipping logs. Barely visible, heading one of said documents, is the name Joanne Wilkins.
She nods slightly, biting her bottom lip and finally closing her mouth before proceeding as directed. She knocks on the door and waits for a response, her breathing ragged and erratic, some of the stories she's heard evidently worming into her subconscious.
A tall, buff-up man enters the room. His scent picked up rotten blood that was lingering in the air. He looked around and saw a middle age woman sitting down, along with others. He looked at them and grin. As he walks in front of few rows of seats, he saw the secretary looking down on files.
"...This is the recruitement office, huh..." mutters to himself. "Quite expected this, but with more aggresive sense of death..."
He rests his back on the seat, while the others were waiting for a call.
From the other side of the door, Angelica speaks up, "Come in applicant, You don't have to knock." Already one applicant in and they're being polite. They're here to apply, not show their manners. She smiled inwardly, looking up to the door.
"THE HULL HAS BEEN BREACHED AND THESCIENCEIS LEAKING OUT!"