NationStates

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The silence of space shrouded a long and silver ship in low orbit. Up above the edge of the atmosphere, a large ship in geosynchronous orbit was alive and well. It was the OPC Shrouded Dawn, one of the many ships employed by the Orbital Police CorpsFrom the bridge one could see the sword of a ship cutting through the nothingness of space with impunity as the busy Planet Earth spun along with them. To be precise, the bust city of Cape Town was right below them. At maximum speed, ships from the Shrouded Dawn could be planet side in seven minutes. It was a mess of a city, especially once the Viir showed up. Gang violence is on the rise and even though most of the soft stuff is gone, drugs use is also going up. Racism is almost as rampant, and there are countless calls of crimes per day.

Shrouded Dawn is home for a group of private military contractors being employed by the South African government to help quench this thirst for help, and as such they are on a constant alert to be called in by the Government whenever. That being said, one must relax at some points. For this reason, the Dawn isn't that far from a small city block. With the capacity to transport 300 people, the massive slab of metal has to have some kind of space for the crew to relax. Just below the bridge on each side there are areas made for people to relax and take the edge off of a long and traumatizing day. One such of these areas is exclusive to the best of the best: The 389th.

Out of the portholes, a lone, white haired man sat on a white stool looking out below. His area of protection had fallen to night's wrath, and he could see the scattered pockets of light from his dominion, as he liked to call it. In his right hand he held a small glass of bourbon and in the left he was holding up his head. A plate of the fanciest crackers and garnish sat next too him with an ever so tempting look. The Lounge that he was in was packed with the other members new and old of the 389th. As they talked and talked, the man sat and stared into oblivion, oblivious of the future that was to come. He had just received word that he had a Lieutenant as his new secretary, seeing as he had just been promoted to Major. It was now just a matter of time until the Lieutenant came to find him in here, and so he decided to keep on keeping on.

Almost on cue, the door to the room opened up and everyone went silent. A blonde with a skirt saluted and then walked in as if she owned the place. A handful of seconds later, she had spotted her prey. She went over to the newly christened Major and came to attention.

''Major Rubis sir, I am Lieutenant Faye, assigned to you as a secretary as of right now''

With a turn of his head, he veered his one good eye and looked over the new Lieutenant. Returning the salute, raised his glass and took a sip. Passing it to the Lieutenant, he replied,

''Good to have you. Now, as your first task, get me a refill, would you?''

''Yes sir,'' she said back. She took the glass and went off in moments.

''Oh, I could get used to this,'' said the Major with a sly grin under his breath.

Geert sat in the corner of the room leaning against the back of his chair looking at the ceiling with his Helmet off infront of him on a table. Just looking up trying not to draw any attention he was relatively new to this place with only 2 years under his belt compared to others who had been here for double digits or more. He heard talking in the room which for the lounge which was normal. Occasionally he would hear something interesting and different maybe some current events from the surface of Earth. Cape Town certainly wasn't the safest place to work but in this day and age what work is safe anyway? That drug LX-13 Is all over the world ruining people and the lives around them. He had gotten the briefing on it when he first heard of it, nasty stuff. He always heard people talking about it in the Lounge.

He picked his head up and looked around and saw occasional crowd, same people and usual regulars that came here. Geert mostly used this room to hear about things, not to talk or socialize he heard some funny jokes from his corner usually but no one really ever came over to him to talk to him or meet him which he didn't mind, it was best people didn't know him. Geert grabbed his helmet and tossed it back and forth between his hands to pass the time.

Kira walked in a crisp fashion, each step was paced, every movement calculated. Her uniform and gear was immaculate, clean, and looking brand new. Having spent much of last night cleaning out dirt from the inner workings of her side arm, followed by careful oil and lubrication of its moving parts, and finally a good polishing finish. After all, you take care of your piece, and it will not fail you. The soft steps of her booted feet was dull on the bulkheads. The chevrons, stripes, and markings of a Senior Constable emblazoned on her arms and breast. She'd earned those stripes, despite her age, and she would not willingly part with them. Even when others in the OPC mocked that someone as young as 22 would be a Senior Constable, mostly from older Men it seemed; but while she did not propagate any reaction, she silently chided to herself, 'Fuck'em. The pricks can go take their medals and shove them up each others asses for all she cared.'

So she walked, remembering the good and bad officers of the Corps she'd encountered. The OPC was her family now, and that's all that mattered these days.

She opened the door to the lounge, walking in with measured strides, giving a nod to Geert as she walked on by. Heading for the bar, a shot of Vodka would do her good. Give her some inner fire for the day. Of course by day was not something existing in space, only the cycles of the ships clocks. No, up here in orbit, day was non-existent. Kira sat at the bar, resting her feet on the stool's support bars. The soft padding under her, and she simply held out a hand for the keep. The usual slid down to her, a shot of Vodka, plain and simple.

"Bottom's up." Kira whispered, putting the empty glass down. "Still tastes like rubbing alcohol."

Lieutenant Laurens Slager
OPC Shrouded Dawn, Lounge

Lieutenant Laurens Slager, formerly MIVD Officer, and now an officer of the 398th Orbital Police Corps, stared out of the reinforced window of the ship, looking towards the planet Earth. Space never ceased to amaze him, and looking at Earth from far up in orbit never got boring. Cape Town. Once a save haven for traders to resupply, now a city rife with crime. Don't do drugs, kids. Damn drugs. Drug crimes were... troublesome here. The drug addicts, too, caused for even more crime. Drastic times call for drastic measures, eh? he thought, touching the Light Machine Gun hanging from his back. He could be called for any moment, and it was best to be prepared. Having all your kit with you could save seconds - and seconds could make all the difference, he knew. Granted, all that ammo he was carrying could get quite heavy outside of combat-scenarios, but well... Everything for those few seconds, eh? Time was money, or lives - or both.

Giving a sigh, Laurens turned away from the view and continued his walk to the Lounge. As he walked inside, he was met by a barrier of sound. People drinking, people talking, people generally having fun (or not, depending on the amount of drinks they'd had). He saw some familiar faces, and some less familiar faces. Nobody too noteworthy, really. Shrugging, he walked to the bar. He sat down at an empty spot, and raised a finger to the barkeeper.

"One water, please."

Only addicts drank alcohol while possibly being 'called to arms' - and addicts were the reason of all this trouble, no?

Cormac Ryan was strolling through the halls of the ship Shrouded dawn, ever cautions he was in full armour from head to toe and his weapons were on his person. He was in a foul mood he hated being on spaceships breathing artificial air. He wanted to be on earth breathing in fresh air and hearing the crunch of dirt beneath his boots. But alas Ryan's work required some sacrifices and Ryan enjoyed his work and his pay too much to quit over something trivial like that.

After walking through the ship for a few minutes he came across the lounge. He stopped at the door of the lounge a wall of noise assaulted his ears Ryan almost kept walking because of this he hated noise but he had nothing to do and was thirsty so he headed in. He walked straight to the bar and sat down on an empty stool. He noticed a woman drinking a vodka, drinking was bad enough but drinking when you could be called to duty at any time was worse. Shaking his head in distaste he turned his head towards the barkeep.

"Barkeep a coke please."

As he was waiting for his coke he pulled his helmet off and placed it on the bar counter then he pulled off his balaclava he wore beneath his helmet and set it on top of the helmet.

Amy sat in a booth alone, sipping a milkshake she didn't really care for. She looked over the Lounge at all of the people milling about, all making small chat and drinking. There were a few people sitting alone in their own chairs and booths though. Maybe they were the silent type. But they all had so much more experience than her. She had only been on the Shrouded Dawn for a few days, not long enough to make any friends. Maybe it was because she usually walked around in full combat gear. Maybe it was the fact that she waved a gun around whenever she needed to make a point. Amy knew she was quite intimidating, and that was fine with her. She had always been a wild child, and that usually scared away a lot of people.

She stared out of the large window and down onto Earth. The view never seemed to amaze her. They were only a small group of people on board one of many ships orbiting the planet, as the Earth was one of many potentially habitable planets. Nothing special. She herself was once on the Earth a few days ago, and now she was up here in orbit, along with everybody else on the ship.

Amy finished up her milkshake and set it aside. Pulling out her pistol, she began to disassemble it and oil the assorted moving parts, even though it was perfectly fine and operational. She also set her rifle and baton on the table was well, planning preform general maintenance on those as well.

Click, click, click, click.

The doors whirred open as Lieutenant Commander stepped into the Lounge, his movements both graceful and direct. It had taken a little longer than usual for him to iron his uniform, hence his late arrival. But everything had to be in perfect order, otherwise it wasn't worth stepping out his door. In the OPC, appearances were never secondary, and the upper echelon needed to maintain proper dress, form and decorum at all times. This held true even when one was in an informal setting.

Ruki's uniform was of a form that... was different than the typical uniforms. In keeping with the relatively recent acceptance of transgender persons into the OPC, specific uniforms had been made available to androgynous, agender, bigender, and other non-binary personnel. The appearance of the uniform was androgynous, but not in a degrading way. Instead of pants or a skirt (typical for traditionally male and female personnel respectively), the uniform had shorts overtop leggings, knee-high boots, and a long-sleeved dress shirt (all with the traditional blue-silver color scheme for peace officers). There were many that mocked the uniform, and even more were calling for its recall. This was primarily because one often had a hard time determining the sex of the uniform's wearers, and that often pissed off those men who liked to flirt with any feminine looking thing that passes by. But to Ruki, it reflected who he was. If you don't like it, fuck yourself.

Most of the 389th were milling around. Some were at the bar taking a drink, one was cleaning her weapons... Nothing of especial interest to Ruki. But with the transfer of several new officers (police officers, not necessarily of officer rank), he felt the need to at least get somewhat acquainted with them. They would soon be risking their lives together, and one needed to be able to trust them.

Seeing an officer of Senior Constable rank, he walked over to her and sat down on the stool next to her. He nodded to her, a hint of a grin on his face. "Good day, Constable Valatyera. Trying to loosen up already?"

Ruki had a veeery androgynous, tenor voice. Really, everything about him (his hair, facial features, mannerisms, etc.) made determining his sex near impossible. This was deliberate on Ruki's part. He (if you can really use "he" to describe Ruki) was bigender. In a sense, he was neither man nor woman, male nor female. Rather, at times he felt like he was male, others like female. Right now, he felt like a male, and his mannerisms reflected it. But if one didn't know him well, you'd not be able to tell. More than likely, you'd just have no clue whether Ruki was a man, woman, or neither.

Grabbing a glass of water, the officer slowly worked on hydrating himself before their next mission.

Norman Capell walked down the hall leading down to the Lounge of the ship Shrouded Dawn . As his boots dully pounded on the smooth metal floor, he thought about what time it was. In all of his years with the Orbital Police Corps, he had never learned how to tell the time while in orbit, unless there was a clock face somewhere. A thought that crossed his mind many times surfaced again - to buy a watch. Of course, he would always dismiss that thought as usual, and it would come up again soon. As always, he was walking around armed - with his trusty British Army standard issue L190A3 squad support weapon, one that he particularly favored due to its handling and blistering rate of fire, combined with a 120 round drum magazine. That was slung over his shoulder. His pistol was held secure in his holster.

The door whirred open as he stepped into the Lounge. There were already quite a few people in there - all of them going about on their business. Some were at the bar, some in booths. He slid into an unoccupied seat at the bar far from the others. As most of his fellow officers were American, he preferred not to be around them. He was the oil on the water when compared to everyone else. Of course, there were other nationalities that his fellow officers had - Iranian, Japanese, even a part Swedish - that he had no opinion of. Yet. But Americans.... they were just the fat pigs trying to do anything in their power to police the world. That's probably why there's so many Yanks on board this ship, he thought to himself.

"Bartender!" he shouted. Then he ordered his favorite drink, an Earl Grey tea with a splash of whiskey. He had discovered the combination some years ago and found it quite good. As the drink was slid down to him, he took it and took a sip, trying to listen in on conversations. He was not that much one for conversation himself, but sometimes he could pick up interesting anecdotes and stories.

Sergeant Kael Rothar
389th OPC Medical Sergeant
Lounge, OPC Shrounded Dawn

Kael Rothar didn't enjoy his OPC uniform. He enjoyed it even less when it had all the armor and gear attached to it on assignment. Due to this, Kael enjoyed every off-duty moment enjoying the feel of a soft cotton tee-shirt and an old pair of denim jeans. He loved the feel of the fabric against his skin, almost as tender and loving as the touch of a woman. However, it was his luck that he felt the touch of the former more than the latter.

It was for this reason that the medical sergeant of the 389th found himself sitting in the Lounge, strewn across a booth along the back wall, getting plastered. Kael looked at his watch before taking another drink and grunted. And with that, Shrounded Dawn crosses the dateline. It's officially Valentine's Day, day of love. "Well, at least slimers love me...." The drunk officer was referring to the drink named slimers in his hand, which was a mix of vodka and a green soda. Kael knew that the drink cared for him, or else it wouldn't allow him to drink it.

He took another deep drink of his glass before leaning back against the wall and looking out at the others in the Lounge. From his vantage point, he could see everyone. Rubis looked quite content with himself and his shiny new promotion. Geert still looked like a scared squirrel trying to hide in plain sight. Kael had been here for a little over 5 years now, but he understood the sentiment, as he himself remembered the feeling all too well. LT Slager, the prude, was keeping his pucker factor up to the normal level by drinking water... Or maybe he's loosened up and that's everclear? Ryan and Kira were by Slager, and Ryan looked like his usual "pissed and ready for war" state. Kira, as attractive as she was, looked just as lonely as he was, or maybe he was just imagining it. Even as he was watching, he saw Ruki sit down right beside Kira and try to converse. Well, guess Ruki's a brother officer tonight. It was just as fine with Kael. Others' sexuality or gender didn't matter to the medic, he had medical records to everyone's physical sex, blood type, disabilities, statistics, etc. so he didn't fuck up a treatment if someone lost a limb or got shot up. Kael's eyes tightened as that bastard Norman walked up to the bar and ordered his usual. The guy always looked at Kael, with his Chicago background, from his high Brit horse.

A clicking and snapping sound caught Kael's attention and he turned slowly around to lift his head over the back of his booth. He tried to speak, his heavy buzz slurring his Chicago accent, "Aye, Amy, what'cha doin' ovuh dere? Why ya workin' on ya guns? It's da bar, get drunk." When Kael was sober, he usually consciously subdued a lot of his accent, but the slimers had him not in a normal state of mind.

Jericho exhaled sharply as he felt the bullet pull out of the myomer lining of his shoulder. "Felt" wasn't quite accurate, of course; anyone cybered could tell you that. The myomer had no nerves, and thus no sensation occurred, save that which the mind created... and it was this that gave him the trouble most commonly associated with his condition. Phantom pain, often associated with amputees, plagued cybered individuals much more commonly due to the sheer speed with which prosthesis could occur with modern technology. There was therapy, of course, but there was always a more pertinent concern. Wounds needed patching, limbs needed cautery, and life marched on... Alas, the tin soldiers were left behind by privatized medicine, to suffer in silence with their aching, invisible wounds. He gritted his teeth grimly as another bit of metal clinked into the steel dish beside him, the grayish-white MyoMeld fluid that coated it dispersing into the water filling the dish. It didn't hurt. It COULDN'T hurt. And yet, there it was: The familiar, burning numbness that spread from the site of a gunshot wound being repaired. He shuddered, and the corporate liason sighed a bit.

"Oh come now, Mr. McLeod; I need you to hold still for me."

He obliged, of course, as he always did. These poor, put-upon doctors had much more valuable patients to attend, and it was only the OPC's imposition that allowed him access to such swift and discrete services. The last thing he needed was another wage garnishment due to "wasted time"; even with his substantially reduced dietary needs, food was still a necessity. The last bit of buckshot plunked into the water, a large wad composed of two pellets fused together; he didn't move an inch, but the doctor sighed once more. He could almost imagine her crimson pigtails bouncing as she shook her head disdainfully.

"There... all done."

The myomer tugged itself together as the nutrient gel fuelled its activity, and the MyoMeld filled in the holes left behind by the pellets. Unlike with human tissue, removing bullets was an important part of repairing cybered replacements. If a shot limb wasn't cleaned and given a nutrient gel supplement, the bullet would interfere with nominal operation and could hinder performance in a progressively worse manner. At first it would be simple shaking our calibration difficulty, but it would swiftly escalate to range of motion loss, delayed function, and at worst, MyoMeld Toxicity Syndrome... The most common killer of cybered individuals. He sat up as the wound swiftly closed itself up and began to knit together the separated tissues, growing warm to the touch and appearing slightly puffy. He traced his finger tips across the incision's site, then glanced up to the doctor with a feigned, but polite smile.

"Thank you again for your time, miss; I appreciate you making space for me."

She replied with an equally saccharine tone, her eyes giving her away from behind her clipboard.

"But of course Mr. McLeod! I always have time for my valued clients. I trust you'll take some time off to let that heal, yes?"

He nearly laughed. Time off was for people missing limbs and organs.

"I'll talk to my CO. I'm sure he'll agree that a few days of rest would do me good."

He was, of course, lying through his teeth. But that wasn't the doctor's concern anymore; she'd done as she'd been asked, and nothing else was necessary. She nodded, packing up her things and moving towards the door.

"Feel lots better, and soon! See you next time you catch lead poisoning."

Her laugh was as fake as her tits as she flounced out of his room. He knew for a fact that he would never see her again: standard rules for fixer-docs. Nonetheless, the false promise led some bewildered newcomers to falsely hope that they might see a favored doctor more than once, which in turn could speed recovery. Just another trick of the trade, he thought with a sigh.

Having rested quite enough, he got to his feet once more, taking a moment to dress himself before heading to his cabinet. The familiar scent of bergamot, clove, and chocolate wafted forth from his tea supply, and he carefully selected a tall, silver tin from the collection. He popped the hermetically sealed lid open, and the warm essence of Golden Dragon washed over him. It was a lucky thing indeed that his sense of smell hadn't been damaged in his fall, or he'd have met his maker years ago from sheer depression. He pocketed the tin, along with a pocket-sized infusion tumbler before turning to exit his room. The door hissed open, and several of the younger officers nearby let out wolf-whistles as he moved through the hallway.

"Damn, Hightower! How did your pruney ass land a fine specimen like that?"

He merely smirked, dusted off his shoulders a bit, and kept walking; a gentleman didn't kiss and tell, particularly when there was nothing to tell. The boisterous recruits stared in quiet amazement; women like the good doctor could be seen exiting the old Sargent's room on a weekly basis, and all of the newcomers had their own theories. Jericho chucked to himself, and left the young men to their speculation.

He arrived at the recreational center to find it bustling as usual; that suited him just fine. He didn't mind noise, nor did he concern himself terribly with crowding. He quietly made his way to the bar, and the crowd seemed to flow around him. The bartender looked up at him, and smiled apologetically; it seemed that the hot water dispenser was still in use. Jericho waved it off; there weren't many others aboard that drank tea, and waiting patiently in line was a skill borne into the British, just as baby deer and horses learned to run within hours of their arrival in this world. He scanned the crowd, his eyes swiftly settling on the sharp features of Norman Capell one of the few Englishmen other than himself aboard the ship. He offered the man a quiet nod, then returned his eyes to the water machine. The tender filled his tumbler for him, the boiling water pouring forth in a steamy, dreamlike prelude to the invigorating comfort of his tea. Preparing the tea was a carefully cultivated reflex; he could steep, strain, and brew tea with the same speed and precision as a soldier disassembling his weapon. The waiting was even a moment he treasured, as the water danced through the loose tea leaves and mingled with their essence. The smell of it was one that deeply rewarded the patient brewer, and resulted from a strong and energizing blend. No sugar nor cream was necessary; chai and lattes were the baliwick of the younger generation. He was a man of age and distinction; just as with his police work, sometimes the old ways were the best. Good tea, like good detective work, took time.

The United Remnants of America wrote:Snip

Amy had just finished up reassembling the rifle when she heard Kael behind her. Turning around to face him, she tried her best to smile. "I'd prefer not to get drunk right now, Kael. Perhaps during a better time, I might, but right now, no." Amy said. Kael seemed to be a nice guy, even if she had only spent a few days aboard. But that was when he wasn't drunk. In his current state of mental stupor, Amy had no idea what he would do. Alcohol could do strange things to people, and Amy knew that for a fact. Parties in the army usually ended up with some rather drunken fight, and she wasn't about to start a bar fight. She knew she had to be careful.

Making sure that her pistol's safety was on, she picked it up, and for a split second it was brandished in Kael's general direction. Just as quickly as it came up, Amy spun it around in her hand and slipped it into her holster. "And if you're trying to find a Valentine, don't bother asking me." Amy turned around and sat back down, wondering what else she could do here.

Penguinia-Tempor wrote:Amy had just finished up reassembling the rifle when she heard Kael behind her. Turning around to face him, she tried her best to smile. "I'd prefer not to get drunk right now, Kael. Perhaps during a better time, I might, but right now, no." Amy said. Kael seemed to be a nice guy, even if she had only spent a few days aboard. But that was when he wasn't drunk. In his current state of mental stupor, Amy had no idea what he would do. Alcohol could do strange things to people, and Amy knew that for a fact. Parties in the army usually ended up with some rather drunken fight, and she wasn't about to start a bar fight. She knew she had to be careful.

Making sure that her pistol's safety was on, she picked it up, and for a split second it was brandished in Kael's general direction. Just as quickly as it came up, Amy spun it around in her hand and slipped it into her holster. "And if you're trying to find a Valentine, don't bother asking me." Amy turned around and sat back down, wondering what else she could do here.

Kael stared at Amy a few breaths longer, saying nothing as his delayed brain dulled his comprehension. The circuitry in his cybered eyes, a coming-aboard present from OPC to cure his borderline-blindness, were beating softly and turning to a rhythm of pale blue light as they worked to keep his vision in focus, combatting the blurred eyesight common with a drunken state. As he was on the ship, he'd had the HUD-mode for his eyes turned off, but on-duty, Kael would've been able to look at Amy and see her rank, blood type, heartbeat, armament, and a host of other stats that he could see when focusing on anyone.

Kael took a swig of his slimer and grunted at Amy, "whateva ya say, Amy. But ya needa have some fun eventually" With that, Kael slumped back down onto his booth, laying on it, his hand up on the table holding his slimer while his legs hung off the edge. Kael stared up at the ceiling, perfectly focused in high definition thanks to his augmented 20/5 vision. He had eyes that are perfect for a medic that needs to see every little bullet fragment or tear in a wound... Or eyes that could be used to spot a target for a sniper even without a spotter's scope, which was his side-activity when not dealing with injured officers or civilians.

Khalid's polished boots clicked and clacked as he made his way to the lounge. It bothered him as he entered, that none of the women were covering their faces, but he let it slide. He tried to be tolerent of others, after years of persecution by Americans. Glancing around, he noticed that the room was full of the imperialists, and decided that sitting at the bar would be a better choice than sitting with any of them. Especially that one who claimed that he was both male and female. He was a disgrace to the world, swapping genders on a day to day basis. Those two had some serious beef.

Khalid shook his head, turned, and took a seat next to a brit, it appeared by the drink that he was ordering. Tapping his knuckles respectfully on the bartop to get the attention of the bartender, he ordered whiskey on the rocks, and jasmine tea. Khalid opened the Quran and produced a cigar from his uniform, lighting it up. Just as the drinks arrived, he thought the englishman stole a glance at him.

"Where are my manners? Would you like a cigar?" Khalid offered him one and left it on the bartop, before turning back to his own text and continuing to read. It was only punctuated by his occasional sips of whiskey. The steaming cup of tea sat untouched. When he drained his glass of that, Khalid then turned to the tea and sipped it gingerly. Turning back to the englishman, he offered a hand. "Khalid bin Jalil, at your service."

The Aspari Syndicate wrote:JHe scanned the crowd, his eyes swiftly settling on the sharp features of Norman Capell one of the few Englishmen other than himself aboard the ship. He offered the man a quiet nod, then returned his eyes to the water machine.

As Norman took another sip from his tea, thinking it needed more whiskey, he caught the eyes of Sergeant Jericho McLeod, who had just offered him a slight nod. All Norman knew about Jericho was that he was an Englishman, just like he was, and he had a vast amount of experience with the Orbital Police Corps, having served for over 40+ years. Norman had also heard rumors about a severe injury that the respected man had, mostly from small talk in the halls, but the man seemed perfectly fine. On the outside at least. Norman held the man in high respect, not only because he was higher in rank, but because he was also an Englishman. Finishing his tea, he then got out of the bar stool and strode towards Jericho, intent on having a conversation with him. Approaching McLeod, he offered a salute.

"Good evening, sir. Er, I meant, good morning." he said, stumbling over his words. "Can't tell what the damn time is." he said a little more quietly to himself.

Geert waved to Kira as she walked by with his Helmet in his hand. She was one of the more decent people to be around here he noticed her sitting down and ordering a Vodka. Alcohol, one of the things Geert really disliked. It had killed his Father and made other people turned into Animals he thought as he glanced at Kael. But he couldn't stop people from drinking it. While it was a source of crime in some Countries it was a source for income for some Business's.

His thoughts were interrupted as Norman walked in. He let out a quiet Sigh, he heard that he didn't like Russians which Geert was. Again nothing he could do about that best he could do was not talk to him or listen to him. he wasn't going to say anything especially since he had Seniority over him which deserved respect. Double digits is something that some people couldn't survive Physically and Mentally especially in the 389th.

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Ryan walked down the narrow halls of the Shrouded Dawn. Being a new member of the OPC, he hadn't a clue where anything was aboard the ship, and indeed he hadn't a clue about what he was supposed to do. He wandered and wandered, marveling at the beautiful interior of the ship. He still wasn't used to the altitude, and would sway from side to side, his mind clouded with thoughts about just getting off the ship. He approached a large door, and walked in. Immediately, the sounds of people chattering was evident, and Ryan had indeed stumbled into the lounge. He immediately thought of a drink, and asked for a cup of tea from, what he presumed to be, a bartender behind the bar.

Swirling it around, he faded into daydream as he remembered why he joined the OPC. His father. Never again shall he let his family down, and he did not wish to do so. Taking a small sniff of the tea; its alright to drink it, he told himself. Sip by sip he emptied the cup of its contents. Nothing so soothing or refreshing had been put down his throat in weeks, and Ryan relished it. He wore his uniform with an unusual pride. While standing at the bar, he looked out the windows, saw nothing. Out there, there could be more of these 'Viirs'. If anything, I wouldn't want one on my land, he told himself a little joke to cheer himself up. The chatter of the people was growing louder. It appeared to him that he was the 'black' sheep.

He thought of leaving the Lounge, hesitated and told himself to sit down first. He took a seat, in front of him were people still talking. Ryan minded his own business, took a book from a shelf, flipping through the pages. He had no interest in reading. Not now. He slumped into the plushy chair, adjusted himself, and tried his hardest to not get bored.

"Hnnnnn!!!" Ulrica grunted as she lifted the steel bar holding multiple ten pound weights on either end and lifted it back on to the hooks, completing her rep and her workout. She sat up on the weight bench and wiped her forehead with the towel that was resting across her shoulders. She sat there for a moment with her eyes closed, catching her breath, before standing up and walking over to a dispenser and filling up a small cup of water then drinking it quickly. She threw the cup away then headed out of the workout room, gripping on to either side of the towel still sitting across her shoulders.

She reached one of the lounge areas, and noticed that it was bustling with activity like always. She entered, wearing her bodysuit absent of armor or gear because constantly wearing all of your gear all of the time is a dumb idea to her. It would exhaust the wearer without being absurdly strong. But anyway, it was time for a drink. She headed over to the bar, "Guten tag. One beer please." She requested and set down the appropriate funds before taking her mug and taking a long swig. Ulrica's ear flickered when she heard the sound of a drunken slob, then recognized the voice to be her very own spotter. "Americans, never know when to quit." She said with a smile and took another drink.

A German-accented voice lilting over the din of the lounge caught Kael's attention as he quickly sat up, almost so quickly that he nearly threw himself off the booth. A glance to the bar confirmed his suspicion: Ulrica. The dead-eyed marksman- markswoman of the unit. And now with her new surgical enhancements, Kael liked to think of Ulrica and himself as the 'eyes' and the 'ears' of the 389th; A clever pun due to their respective augmentations and roles as sniper and spotter. Kael lifted his glass in greeting and yelled out over the local conversation to get his friend's attention, "Hey, Wolfie, I've got an open seat fer ya ovuh here!" Joking aside, Kael deeply respected Ulrica for her talent: Whatever target Kael could see and point out, she could put a hole through his head, distance not even being a factor. She was truly a predator worthy of the drunken pet name that Kael was now referring to her as.

With a click and a spark, Yukiko's lighter produced a small flame. She brought it close to her face as she walked, lighting the cigarette in her mouth. She closed the lighter cap, extinguishing the flames as she brought her hand to the cigarette. A second later she exhaled smoke from her mouth, sighing as the nicotine coursed through her body. Yukiko knew a few of her colleagues didn't exactly approve of the practice, especially seeing how narcotics haven't exactly done much to help the crime rate. But even Yukiko had to admit the cigarette in her hand might as well have been a gummy bear compared to some of the crap passed around in the streets. Besides, it helped clear her head and she hardly ever did it when anyone else was around, so she could at least pull rank on most people who complained.

As she walked into the lounge, she put the cigarette into a nearby ashtray and surveyed the room, seeing her comrades liberally strewn about. She looked over to see her direct superior Ruki with a glass of water in hand, talking to Constable Kira. She then turned her eyes to Kael, sighed as she realized he was already drunk. She walked over to him, raising an eyebrow as she got within earshot.

"Drinking already I see Sargent." Yukiko commented, then sighed and shrugged. She was alright with Kael. Her eyes wandered to Amy and she gave the constable a slightly forced smile. Not out of any actual displeasure, it was more because smiling didn't come as easily to her anymore. "He giving you any trouble?" Again, a forced lightness to the words, trying to dispel the heavy tone she sometimes brought with her.

Ulrica's ears flickered once more, hearing someone beckoning the word "Wolfie". Clearly, there wasn't anyone else who matched that title other than her, so she turned to see the drunken slob that was her partner beckoning her over to sit. Unable to resist, she gave a gentle smile and walked over. But before she could make it to him, Lieutenant Mizushima approached him first. "Ah, Guten tag Oberleutnant." Ulrica said and gave a tender salute, unable to give a full fledged salute since she had a mug of beer in her hand then looked at Corporal Miller and nodded. "Oberstabsgefreiter Miller."

Geert saw some People around the drunken mess that Kael is. If he wanted to make Friends with the People he was going to cover and be covered by, he was going to have to talk to them. Geert got up from his seat and grabbed his helmet and walked over to behind them. "Kel' p'yan snova ya vizhu, kak vse?" Geert said in Russian. "How is everyone?"

Kael hunched himself over to gain breath before taking a drink of his slimer and smiling wide while laughing. He'd gone from being alone on a Valentine's Day "morning" to being surrounded by friends. Maybe he wouldn't have to drink himself into a complete stupor after all. A shame he was already well on his way there.

"LT Mizushima, nice to see you at da lounge on such a lovely mornin'." As he spoke, Kael gave about as sloppy a salute as he could muster, more from the sarcasm and less from the drink. Being the only medic in the 389th had it's privileges when it came to such little breaches in order. What were they going to do? Suspend him from a mission and then risk everyone's life who went to the ground. Highly unlikely.

"Ahh, and da lovely Miss Ulrica finally makes her way ovuh here. And ya bring a Russian in tow. How ah ya, Geert?" Kael started to scoot inward on his booth, offering a place to sit for any of the newcomers to his corner, glancing behind himself as he did so, wondering if Amy was going to hop over and join them as well. Sometimes, the best camaraderie was carried out with drink in hand.

Chris walked down the hall of the command ship, he was possibly the only recurit of the 389th fresh out of boot camp. As he walked down the hall with his duffle bags and armor he kept thinking to himself about the possibilities he could have here. Being a cop was going to be a tough job as many probably had already died just to keep the peace on Earth. After reaching the barracks he found his bed and dumped all of his gear on it, then provided to up pack the bags, he neatly stored all of this gear way into his locker and foot locker. After he was done he sat on his bed and began to read

Lieutenant Laurens Slager
OPC Shrouded Dawn, Lounge

Laurens looked at the others sitting in the Lounge, studying each of them for a second or so. He shook his head. Alcoholics. It was pitiful, really. Chances were they'd all get called to the surface, and then he'd be stuck with a team of drunkards in the middle of a firefight in downtown Cape Town. Not preferable. He stood and walked towards them. He'd address them (and probably lower his popularity), wether they wanted it or not.

"Rothan, sober up. Wouldn't trust you to even bandage me up, state you're inn. Hell, I fear you would chop off my whole fucking arm!"

He'd seen the German sniper enter, and order a beer. That'd be the last. "Ulrica! First beer is your last beer! German or not, I don't want you using that sniper rifle of yours in our beloved medic's state! And talk fucking English, if you please."

"And you!" he said, pointing towards Kira, "No more bloody vodka! Where I come from you lose your job for drinking during your job! Drink coffee, eat donuts! I don't care, just don't drink alcohol! Even the fucking Russian isn't drinking!"

With a frustrated grunt, he drank his glass of water empty, and put the glass back on the bar. "It's a fucking disgrace." he muttered under his breath. 389th OPC, a bunch of drunkards. Bloody worthless - why did they even sell alcoholic drinks on board of the ship? Laurens liked a beer every now and then, but not while on duty. Not while on board of this ship, where one had to be ready for action at any given time. He shook his head. Truly, it was a disgrace.