NationStates Jolt Archive

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Also, please use the above thread for any and all OOC posts.

IC:
The SUV stopped in front of an intimidating black skyscraper that even pierced through the thick layer of sickly brown smog that had oppressevily hung over the vast expanses of Borleone. It's height was impossible to determine from their vantage point. As they entered the street, the arid stench of chemicals suffocated the recruits for a brief moment, but it quickly passed. Anyone who soldered anything would recognize a distinct smell of lead, which seemed to emanate from the very heavens themselves.

Their sinewy driver ushered them through two sets of sliding automatic doors. The filtered air conditioned air was certainly a pleasant change, but the sterile, metallic innards of the buildings seemed disturbingly worse than the bleak, gray bareness of the outside. This initial room was almost completely void of anything, besides the flourescent lighting, and a few rather uncomfortable looking black, leather couches. Huge metallic doors loomed in front of them, with a tiny control panel on the side.

Their driver casually strolled to the small panel, leaned down in front of it, his face within a few inches of it and after a second of a very unpleasant sound, the doors opened. From their vantage point, the recruits could see nothing of what occurred.

They passed through the doors and entered what was obviously an elevator. As the doors opened, the bustle of a throng of people moving past the elevator--all dressed in very expensive looking suits. All seemed to be apathetic to everything around them and they shoved past each other with no concern or sympathy. Finally one noticed the group of recruits greeted them curtly and remarked that the bony driver could leave and that he would "take things from here."

The man was quite young--in his early twenties and seemed quite nervous in his demeanor. He glanced over the recruits and told them to follow him to "Room HTR47SA".

"I wouldn't get on that guys bad side," he murmured and glanced at the closed elevator doors where their driver had once stood, "Just a little piece of advice I thought you guys might find useful."

As he led them to wherever he was taking them, he explained of what would happen,
"You'll be able to ask the Major any questions you have about the Legion. Then you have to sign some paperwork. They'll screen you guys, to make sure you will legitimatly have some sort of loyalty to the legion. And then you'll be taken to some base to begin the training."

They arrived. He opened the door and motioned them to enter.
"Nice knowing you guys," he said as he left.

This new room looked much like a classroom, with numerous school desks arranged in neat rows in front of a large projector screen. A very burly, hostile looking man stood firmly in the center--dressed in camoflauge pants and a faded green shirt. He had a very authoritative look to him, with a squared jaw and a piercing, omnscient sort of glare to his demeanor. At the same time there was a strange air of charisma to the way he was constantly composed. This was a man who was used to giving orders and expected them to be carried out. If his expectations were misplaced, his wrath would be biblical. He stared at them with psychotic ferocity and growled,

"Sit the fuck down."

He clearly seemed to be making attempts to restrain himself in his words, but realizing the still present jaggedness in the phrase he uttered, he decided to rephrase his command,

"Please, sit the fuck down."

He waited for them to comply and then continued,
"Before I tell you all the shit I gotta tell you, do any of you..." (he paused obviously restraining himself) "...recruits have any dumbass questions?"

Mirok took a seat and waited to see how the others would react. He'd been surprised, slightly, by the trip and company, but shrugged it off with the usual pragmatism of his class.

McManus simply sat in a chair, not responding to the question. The man in the room had the same attitude every DI had, and he knew how to deal with it. He kicked his bag under his chair, and waited for whatever was planned to happen, to happen.

He had been frowning the entire time since getting out of the car. He couldn't say that he liked this place, smelled of human tampering. Not to mention the sterile head quarters. Plus it irked him about when loyalty was mentioned; he never like the idea since the incident a few years back. But, upon being told to 'Please, sit the fuck down,' he couldn't help but feel the tug of a smile on the corners of his mouth. It couldn't help but bring back found memories of boot camp. . . perhaps he will find the answers he was looking for.

The man seemed satisfied by the lack of questions and broke from his stance and began pacing around the room while continuing talking, in a calmer, somewhat less fierce tone,

"I am Master Sergeant Jonas Nilson and.. shit. I'll just give you the fucking legal shit to sign, so I don't have to pussy down this once-upon-a-time-in-a-merry-fairy-faggoty-fuckin'-magic-land storytime."

He went to a small file cabinet in the corner and out pulled out what looked to be several large books. He held the stack in one arm and then snapped at the recruits,

"Well, come get them, you lazy fucks. I ain't gonna waltz around for you like your transsexual third grade teacher and put each one carefully on your fucking laps!"

As the recruits complied, they would soon discover that each 300 page "booklet" was a large legal contract--filled to the brim with complicated Amerigan legal jargon and countless of references to legal documents that were obviously unobtainable by the recruits. Any attempt to read the legal contract novel would inevitably fail even for a highly trained international lawyer without hours of research of the Amerigan legal system. This contract was clearly written this way so the recruits would not be able to know what they were signing. As the recruits went back to their desks, the seargant sternly remarked,

"Now sign it."

McManus, was, in all ways, the steryotypical Irish asshole. Not phased by the seargent's speach, he simply flipped open the book, and began to peruse the legal document. He let his eyes glance over the legal mumbo jumo, making it seem as if he actually understood what was being said. He pulled a pen from his jean's pocket, and clicked it open, but didn't sign yet. Instead, he looked up at Nilson, and shrugged.

"Quick question," he said, flipping a page or so back. "It says here, page two twenty seven, paragraph 12, line 8, sentance five, 'the fifth party of the fourth parties chosing'. Who exactly is the third party of the fourth parties choosing, and does he or she have any say in the picking of the fifth party?"

Mirok glanced at the 'book' and proceeded to sign it.

Nilson's eyes bulged out, as his anger came to a boil. With noticeable restraint, teeth clenched he growled,
"The fifth party will violently meet the fourth party... so hard that you, the smartass party, won't get the taste of shit and boot out of your mouth for--..."

He was interrupted as the only door in the room swung open softly. The sergeant snapped to attention in the Amerigan Marine Legion salute. His right arm struck his chest and remained in a clenched fist on his heart. His left arm, which was at his side fiercly sprung upwards and to the left so that it was a foot away from his leg and formed an angle of about 30 degrees with his torso.

"Major!" he cried, with a newfound zeal, which managed to speedily oust and replace the rage in a brief moment.

The major walked through the door slowly, steadily, confidently and let it slide shut behind him. The major was of a somewhat large build--athletic and muscle ridden as any Amerigan Marine, but not enough to be considered burly. He was somewhat tall and had very prominent features--a partially hawk-like nose, somewhat curved in a very proud sort of way, high cheekbones, and a gaze that was very furtive in nature. It was slow, steady, calculating, and confident--above all confident. His eyes slowly drifted from recruit to recruit as he steadily continued his passage up to the front of the room. His expression was blank and apathetic, his gaze powerful, yet dismissive. And if it could be considered that the Sergeant had an air of charisma, the major was certainly soaked in it. The major indeed seemed a born leader. Any subtle action--his very walk (rather slow but uncompromising and unstoppable) demanded loyalty and trust, but in return promised victory and strength. His black uniform, adorned with nothing but a lone green star on his left shoulder and the Amerigan Marine Legion insignia on the right, had fresh bloodstains below his knees and on his boots.

"At ease, Sergeant," he finally said, then turning to the recruits, remarked in a cool, confident tone and at a pace no faster than his walk, "I would urge you sign those documents now, as some of the conditions you are agreeing to is a limited confidentiality. Limited, in terms of, me being able to allow anyone of you to void that clause at anytime. I'm in charge of the Foreign Legion... Name's Major Henry U. Sorvali and I designed this whole training program. The FL has to be different from the ML, since frankly, you're all too old to begin ML and have military backgrounds..."

He paused, his eyes did a second round of sizing up the recruits. After but a few seconds he walked over to McManus leaned over the desk and stared him directly in the eyes with a gaze and an expression that was somewhat discomforting--it was much like looking down from a steep precipice at night (one couldn't see anything, but one could feel the imminent danger). Then the major simply asked,
"What do you expect from this... program?"

Levidin grimaced as he looked down upon the mass of paper he held in his hands. He knew the routine, the complex legal writing that was impossible to read, interrupted by countless "initial here" and "sign and date here". And three hundred fucking pages of it. The only good of this came from the comment of one of the other recruits. . . MacManis was it? He would have to catch some of their names sometime in the future. . . sometime. Wasn't really that important to him. But the comment was great, especially since he knew what sort of reaction it would get from the Master Sergeant. A pity it was interrupted by the entrance of the Major, but it did give him wonder whether or not Neilsomething was in the end, just a toady prick. . . He simply shrugged off the thought and took to studying Major Sorvali.

McManus chuckled inwardly at his own comment, and the reaction for the seargent. However, he straigtend up slightly when the major entered the room. If there were two things alone the ICMC taught, one was all enlisted, regardless of rank are free game for jokes, the other was do not, under any circumstances, fuck with an officer. Of course, McManus had a slight problem with authority, as would be seen in his high school records. He didn't think the prank was that bad, but then again, no one would when the girls had to share a restroom with the males for three weeks.

The major approached him, no doubt hearing his comment from outside the door. He could feel the major's breath as the man breathed down on him, and asked his question. The synapses in McManus's brain came to a slow halt. He coudl always quote some cheesy line about serving God and country, or to be the best of the best, and repeat said line until it had enough impact. Instead, McManus went with simple, brutal, honesty. "I just wanna blow shit up and get paid for it, sir," he said, his light Irish accent turning the sir into a "sih".

The major exhibited no apparent reaction to the answer, but instead straightened and stepped back. With his hands behind his back he began pacing the room and continued his speech,

"That won't happen for five years... The five years of training you will receive will filter out the undesirables--the weak. This Darwinian type of training will be merciless. The Legion shows no sympathy for the weak and the cowardly. This is the last opportunity, you recruits have to willingly leave. Once the training commences, you will not be able to make that decision."

He paused and looked around the room, scrutinizing every recruit for a shred of doubt. He resumed,

"There are two traits that the Legion looks for in its recruits: courage and loyalty. The five years of training will, indeed, transform you to the most efficient killing machines possible. The only shred of humanity you will have will be those two traits--courage and loyalty. The loyalty I mean is not loyalty to God, to one's country, to one's superior officers, but loyalty to one's brothers. For those of you who will become Legionnaires, you will become brothers to each other and to all the Legionnaires in your Legion. You will also have courage--the courage to stand for your brothers and be killed instead of fleeing to safety at the expense of their lives. I ask for those two traits of you. Everything else you don't have to worry about, the training will handle that... In return for your labors and your embrace of solely those two traits, you will become immortal. Five years of torturous training and you will have immortality. If you become a Legionairre and fall in battle--you will not die... Because, by then, you would have become a part of your squad, your legion, your brothers. You will live on as long as the Legion lives and your deeds will be remembered for an eternity. Should you become a Legionairre you would be the one to gloriously affect the stagnant pool of eternity and send not a ripple through it, but a tidal wave. And with that... I ask... Are you willing?"

”Heh. Sorry for interrupting what I do not doubt was an absolutely heart-warming speech.” In the doorway stood a man, clad in a loose-hanging desert camo outfit. His lips curved into a smirk, as he shifted the toothpick he was chewing on from one side of his mouth to the other. It wasn’t hard to make out what he was saying, although his speech had been veiled in a thick Thianian (OOC: Imagine Korean.) accent.

He pushed his pitch-black, rectangular, mirror-tinted sunglasses up into his frizzy hair, revealing slightly crooked eyes, giving him a faintly Asian apperance. He took a few, casual steps into the room, his worn-out military boots squeaking slightly. In a quick motion, his bag was thrown at the nearest desk, causing it to coast along the floor, before banging lightly against a table leg. The room had gone silent upon his entry, to which he simply responded with a coy grin.

Song quickly scanned the room. On a table in the corner, he noticed a stack of books. Books, that the small group of people had at their respective desks. Not uttering a single word, he proceeded to walk to the table, locate the book with his name on it, pick it up, and seat himself at the desk of his choosing. He flipped open the book, and started to quickly glance over the pages.

Mirok, with the utter pragmatism he'd learned, replied, "I wouldn't be here if that wasn't the case, Sir."

The major nodded approvingly at Mirok's remark and he was about to resume his harangue when a new recruit entered the room. He stared at him with the same unyielding blankness as he had always seemed to stare before. Not a single trace of irritation manifested in his face. His cold, calculating eyes looked this interloper over, slowly and painfully. They seemed to poke and prod him, test him, judge him... Finally, the major had completed the brief moments of scrutiny and seemingly satisfied with his inspection continued as before,

"I will, now tell you of what is going to..." he paused, reconsidered and simply remarked, "I would urge all of you to sign the contracts now, so I can discuss what lies ahead of you."

Mirok dropped the fully signed document onto Nilson's desk and resumed his seat. He then proceeded to wait for the next bit of info from the officer.

Song quickly flipped through the remaining pages in the booklet, signing in all the appropriate places. Seemingly content with his work, he rose from his desk, dropped the book on Nilson's desk with a large bang, and returned to his seat.

He frowned for a second, the thought of five more years of training was depressing to say the less. He had already gone through the one year required of the Holy Empire's soldiers, not to mention the constant drilling he went through as a soldier, and on top of that, the intensive demands required of him when he had been "promoted" to the elite First Guard. Though, he knew the drill. Become one with your fellow soldiers. . . though he wondered if these guys would go the same route with the "dump them in the wilds with a goal, and see if they survive the full three months". God, he had hated that. . .

Needlessly, while all of his doubts and thoughts on the subject ran through his head, he busily initialed and signed his way through the paper work, before lifting it up and dropping it upon the table.

Unnoticed until now, Owen MacRobin, Knight of the Duke’s Own, and who is at present a hit man, turns in his signed booklet on the desk. Another five years of training, after the Athsegit Wars, Owen thought, not like I need it after Trchenko and Kampfuire. Owen winced inwardly at the memory of the wounds the Athsegit spears had left in him. His mind turning back to the present, looks like a good bunch here, all battle trained. Not unlike the troops I fought with in the Marches ,Signe, Odwain, Seamasin… Too bad many of them will never leave there. Maybe a new job will keep my mind off it, gods willing.
MacRobin turned around and stood with the others. Bloody Hells, he thought, just what have I gotten myself into now.

OOC: I will be incommunicado ‘till Saturday at the least, mayhap longer.
Just assume Owen goes with the group, I will sort out pending my return.

OOC: I'm mainly waiting for Imitora now... If he doesn't show up tommorrow, I'll go ahead and assumed he signed.

OOC: I am now assuming everyone signed and carrying on with the story.

The major watched silently as the last recruit signed and turned in the legal documents, then with a renewed zeal continued his speech,

"Now, I can continue and brief you on... your immediate future," he paused cleared his throat, took a large breath and continued with what was probably bound to be a very long discourse, "The reason those documents were so necessary was because the trials ahead of you will be--by some--considered inhumane, but they are necessary to mold you into an efficient killing machine. Also failure will have... unpleasant consequences. So, with those documents you have waived all manner of international rights. For the five years of your training, you belong to the Legion and no longer do you have a voice to place any sort of complaint to anyone. For that momentous sacrafice you will gain a combination of skills that no man has; your strength will be unmatched; your performance in a combat situation, flawless. The confidentiality portion of the agreement is also necessary to protect the secrecy of our military installations and operations. The world does not know this, but Amerigo has several insurgent islands that are constantly occupied by troops. Now my superiors found it necessary to turn mainly those two conditions into a legal text of those proportions. Now, I'm no law whiz, so I let them hand it to the lawyers and thats what they churned out. Personally, I'd have rather you knew what you were facing... but, hell...

"But let's get to the important part. This is not a conventional sort of training. Now when I was first presented with creating this Legion, I thought... How the hell am I going to turn a bunch of different nationals into a cohesive fighting force? I thought about it and decided that for the objectives of the FL, a cohesive force was not necessary. To react to terrorists and insurgents all over the world, one does not need an army. One needs small teams of the elite. You will be made into a cohesive killing machine--you will be one. But. But to become that, you will go through a series of competitive... training excersises that will pit squad against squad, recruit against recruit. Yeah the competition will be in the squad, too. With that you will learn to know who is strongest and in what respect. With the hatred of broken egos you will come together after 5 years and become one. But tommorrow, you will be enemies. Self-presevation and self-interest, gentlemen. Do not be misled as to think that this sort of competition will be fun and games. No, gentlemen. It will be brutal that will test your physical limits, your psyche, your whole fucking mind.

"This is Squad 6. And the Sergeant over there will be one of your instructors. Now we will move you to one of our bases. I wish you luck and hope that such promising cadets are not bound to failure."

With that the major stopped, waited for a brief second looking at each recruit one last time, and curtly left the room. The Sergeant looked as if a burden was lifted from him and with a malicious smile screamed with an unrelenting fury,

"You heard the major, you grinning fucking fairies, storytime's over and the real shit-storm is about to fling you into a five years of suffering. Now get up and don't trip over your frilly fucking dresses. Now shut up, you pansies, and follow me, we're gonna take a little trip to a place called Overkill Sector, the base where you she-males will be stationed."

The Sergeant led the way. They exited the room and proceeded back to the elevator. They didn't return to the bottom, however. Instead they emerged at the top. Where an Amerigan military grade transport helicopter was awaiting them.

"Quit gawking and get on, you puny shits."

He didn't join them and instead went back into the elevator.

McManus watched the others before signing the contract. He was slowly learning who was who, and had already eye deed the the shit kisser, the "I know I'm a bad ass", and the middle of the roader. Finally, after waiting a few more minutes for the dramatic effect, signed the document, and dropped it on the desk, not carring about the loud, hollow, thud it made as it hit the desk. He returned to his seat, and listened to the description of the school.

He let the excess words of the DI pass over him, wondering why every DI in the world assumed that swearing made one supperior, and simply followed the other recruits. He looked out on the roof towards the chopper, and, not waiting to be told, boarded.

Not having had the... pleasure of hearing the Sergeant talk up until this point, Song had to put some effort into not laughing out loud, and merely settled for a grin.

As they stood there, waiting to board the helicopter, he was about to follow McManus, when the Major's words kept stirring in the back of his mind:

"...squad against squad, recruit against recruit..."

And with that, he stepped back again, and begun to pay close attention to the walk and stance of the other recruits. He would be entering last.

EDIT:

OOC: I urge you guys to take this oppurtunity to talk to each other a bit. Get to know who's who. It will benefit you in the long run.

OOC: Not a bad idea. I might strike up a conversation in the chopper.

OOC: I urge you guys to take this oppurtunity to talk to each other a bit. Get to know who's who. It will benefit you in the long run.

EDIT: I am such a hypocrite. "Also, please use the above thread for any and all OOC posts." --the first post of this thread, by Amerigo. :(
(OOC sidenotes in that case are from now on allowed. Longwinded OOC discussions will go on in the OOC thread.)

Mirok mentally smiled at the sargent's mellowness as he boarded the chopper. He took note of the other recruits, but other than a glance, disregarded them.

OOC: No time for a lengthy post...

IC:
As the last of the recruits got on the chopper, it rose into the murky sky and flew to its mysterious destinatiuon--Overkill Sector. The lone pilot of this massive machine was small and sickly. He also seemed very much withdrawn and uninclined to casually chat.

Song cleared his throat. He had been looking at the floor of the helicopter up until this point. He lifted his head up, and while looking at no one in particular, he said: "So.. why are you here?"

McManus looked at the man who asked the question, the same who had interupted the commanders oh so heart warming speech. He was Korean, or maybe Chinesse, well, one of the Asian races, and nodded. Undoubtedly, it was teh same question on everyone's mind, and he looked aorund the body of the helicopter. no one seemed to be piping up, so he went first. "Like I siad, I just wanna blow shit up and get paid for it. Paid better than home, at least."

Levidin didn't shift a glance from the helicopters side portal, merely let a moment of silence fall after McManus spoke.

"Because," he answered glibly, and with no emotion.

"Reasons." Mirok replied as he began 'cat-napping'.

McManus chuckled silently, and looked over at Song, who had first asked the question. "Well, look at these two. Too good to talk to us lower class grunts eh? So why you here," he asked, tossing the question back at Song.

Song grinned at the comment. He was silent for half a minute so, considering his answer. "Well...", he said, "I recently started work as a private contractor. It is not that I am having difficulty finding work, not at all. It is merely that the truly lucrative deals require a bit more..", he grimaced. "Combat experience."

OOC:
BUMP
How many people are still looking at this thread? Come on, I wanna see some longer posts... some sort of interaction... some more effort? Maybe? Please?

Hearing the comment 'about being to good to talk to them' Mirok stopped his cat nap. "Alright, if you want to know my reasons, then I'll tell you. I wanted to be part of the military, but because of social caste reasons, I was unable to become part of the regular military in my homeland. Thus when given the chance to join the Amerigo Foreign Legion, I took it." Mirok said, "If I sounded snobby before, I apologise, where I'm from it's not well viewed to talk to much about yourself, especially those from my class."

ooc: Alright

He turned towards McManus, his jaw tensing for a second before relaxing. His gaze returned to watch the surroundings, a "whatever" mumbled. Levidin wasn't in the mood to talk, he was tired and a bit hungover still. Being in a helicopter didn't help those situations out much. Of course, the good news is that the hungover part would be fixed for a nice amount of time. A pity that tired will be one he will be living with for even longer.

McManus eyed Levidin, and noted teh standard signs of a hang over. He made a mental note of the drinker, and then looked bak over at Mirok. "Its ok then, no harm no foul. And Song, right? I know what you mean. Its the same back home, they want some acutal combat time beyond the training field to get the big bucks. Shit, I haven't properly introduced myself."

McManus extended his hand out to Song, in intorduction. "Ryna McManus, Imitora Colonial Marine Corp."

Song smiled, giving McManus a firm handshake. "I believe I, too, am guilty of that breach of conduct, if you will. Jegal Song, Thianon National Army."

With that said, he leaned back into his seat, resting his head against the side of the helicopter. Shortly after, he looked at his timepiece with a sigh of resignation.

Looks like it might still be a while. I hate waiting like this.

"I understand completely if our two sleeping friends here are not interested in reiterating their personal history." He did a lazy hand gesture in their direction. "I, myself, have no problem with that, and it would, if nothing else, help pass the time. If.. that is something you would be interested in, of course." he said, with an amiable grin.

Shoved in by security MP's he stumbled forward and whirled back to shoot a piercing glare as they closed the doors behind him. He didnt look much like an elite recruit at all, a torn bandana around his neck, a carmel leather jacket that hid his white wife beater. but his cargo pants struck the cord of military. Swat black and emptyed of it's usual contents by the guards. he composed himself and took a seat near the speaker, right ear facing him and looked around at those that he would share the next year or more with.

"And I'm Mirok Le'Tu. Formerly Vorcolian Militia, presently Amerigo Foreign Legion recruit." Mirok commented as he offered his hand to the other two.

Reaching out his hand to Mirok and clasping it firmly he nodded.
"Mirok, Glad to meet you." he said almost as though it was by a script.
Sitting back down he tucked his his hands back into his coat anxious to get started with training but equally curious of his new companions

He eyed, the new guy coming in, shook his head a bit, and went back to gazing out the window and not throwing up.

OOC: Might I ask you guys for a bit more banter? So that you sorta know a little bit about each otehrs cahracters. I mean the strong, silent thing is fine, but you can't all do that. But if you guys don't want to talk to each other anymore. I'll just land the chopper. So... uh tell me if you want more time or not.

OOC: Might I ask you guys for a bit more banter? So that you sorta know a little bit about each otehrs cahracters. I mean the strong, silent thing is fine, but you can't all do that. But if you guys don't want to talk to each other anymore. I'll just land the chopper. So... uh tell me if you want more time or not.


OOC: I tried to start a conversation about their pasts, but it seems the question was left unanswered. I'm fine either way.