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brute_shot_bully"No, he's too unpredictable." Carolina leaned against the back wall, arms crossed over her chest, looking from 479er to the observation window overlooking the small interview chamber. Interrogation room. Holding cell. Whatever name happened to fit whatever purpose it was supposed to hold for whatever moment.
For now, there was only one person in there; a very large, very bruised and bloodied foot soldier, his UNSC shirt torn from a recent figh. He seemed unconcerned with his wounds, arms crossed on the table infront of him. He'd glance around periodically, at the door, at the camera, fixating on his reflection in the mirror because he knew there was someone on the other side.
"He took out more then half the bar. Two deaths, countless injuries -- some of them permanent, and look at him. I keep expecting him to ask how the weather is."
Carolina shook her head. "I'm not disputing his strength or endurance, yes, he has that in spades. It's the way he wouldn't stop when the MPs went in. Remind me, how many guys did it take to subdue him?"
"I seem to remember something about needing multiple tazers." 479 grumbled.
"I don't want him on my team. If the Project must have him, assign him to Montana's unit; he, at least might, be able to match him in strength and bullheadedness."
At that moment, the door to the opservation room opened and the Director strode in, hands clasped behind his back, the Counselor following behind with his datapad in hand.
"Ladies."
"Sir." Both Carolina and 479 had snapped to salute before their superior had ever crossed the threshold, and didn't lower it until he'd given them a small nod. The Counselor was busy entering data, glancing in at the soldier, back at the pad, and then curious glances up at the pilot and the agent as the Director continued.
"I hear you're not satisfied with the newest recruit?"
"Sir. I have some questions regarding his ability to follow orders."
"I hope you'll keep a record of them as he goes through his basic training. At the end, if he hasn't answered them sufficiently, I will hear them out."
Carolina stiffened for a moment, but 479 knew the other woman wasn't about to argue against the Director. The formal, crisp, "Very well, Sir." was nothing less then what she'd come to accept from the top agent.
"We'll get him mopped up and in a base suit tonight. He'll be yours tomorrow at 0400. Dismissed."
The women gave him a final salute, and then filed out of the room.
While Carolina headed off to the training room, no doubt where she would vent her frustrations and mull over serious questions against a training dummy (or whatever live dummy happened to be near enough to be roped into a sparring session with her), 479er wasn't finished with the new recruit yet. Pilot, Recruiter, Handler. She was versatile in her assignements with the Project. She'd been the one looking into this brute, and when someone had smashed a bottle over his head and he returned it by smashing that person's head into the counter, she figured he'd be a good fit for their little family.
She took out her own data pad and queued up a list of the United States. There were checkboxes by all, some of them blank as had yet been unassigned, the rest greyed out with a little green checkmark. Only one was full out blocked with a red X. Texas. Reserved.
The soldier leaned back and looked at her as she entered, fully armored but at ease. There was just a very faint recognition, as he'd only seen her when he was finally slipping into unconsciousness as she came to retrieve him after the whole brawl.
"Hey there, big guy. You put on quite a show down there." She rounded the table and sat in the empty seat. There was still a sense of military professionalism in the precise nature of her movements, the the cadence of her voice and tilt of her head caused the soldier to ease somewhat.
He replied with an amused little grunt. She knew from watching him that he wasn't a big fan of Words, but that he could use them when the fancy struck.
"So I can give you a couple options here. My superior had to do a lot of bargaining to get you this far; the MPs wanted you locked up and scheduled for a court marshal before the dust even settled, but if you want to stay out of that, you're going to have to agree to this." She tapped a key on her datapad and slid it over to him. He looked from her to the pad, curious, and then read it.
Skimmed is more like it. She could see he was looking for key bits of information, combing the terms and conditions and parameters but not reading every sentence. What it outlined was that if he agreed, he would be at the sole discretion of the Director of Project Freelancer and the top ranking Agent of whatever unit he was assigned. He'd be fed three square meals a day, be given shared quarters, given clothing, weapons, and training to aid the war.
He would no longer be in the army. His actions were grounds for dishonorable discharge, but in agreement to the contract he was looking at, he'd be declared dead and spared the shame.
If he declined the contract, he'd be given over to the MPs, and all that that implied.
He set the datapad down and looked at her, locking his eyes on the visor with a particular intensity that unnerved 479. She was in full armor, and the Director and Cousnelor were watching, and there were armed guards just outside the door. She couldn't help thinking back to the bar fight and seeing how instinctively and brutally he'd reacted, that he'd been a force to reckon with even before he'd enlisted, and they'd given him the training he needed to make killing things second nature. She had speed, but he had everything else.
"They'll let me kill things?"
"The right things. As many as you want. Scores. Hundreds. Too many to count." Hell, take them all out, just as long as they weren't fellow agents everyone should be good.
He gives a nod, slides a stylus out from its sheath on the datapad, and scrawls his name on the surface. He handed it back to 479, who tapped tapped tapped and then handed it back.
It showed the list of states.
"Welcome to Project Freelancer. First course of business is to choose your new name."
For now, there was only one person in there; a very large, very bruised and bloodied foot soldier, his UNSC shirt torn from a recent figh. He seemed unconcerned with his wounds, arms crossed on the table infront of him. He'd glance around periodically, at the door, at the camera, fixating on his reflection in the mirror because he knew there was someone on the other side.
"He took out more then half the bar. Two deaths, countless injuries -- some of them permanent, and look at him. I keep expecting him to ask how the weather is."
Carolina shook her head. "I'm not disputing his strength or endurance, yes, he has that in spades. It's the way he wouldn't stop when the MPs went in. Remind me, how many guys did it take to subdue him?"
"I seem to remember something about needing multiple tazers." 479 grumbled.
"I don't want him on my team. If the Project must have him, assign him to Montana's unit; he, at least might, be able to match him in strength and bullheadedness."
At that moment, the door to the opservation room opened and the Director strode in, hands clasped behind his back, the Counselor following behind with his datapad in hand.
"Ladies."
"Sir." Both Carolina and 479 had snapped to salute before their superior had ever crossed the threshold, and didn't lower it until he'd given them a small nod. The Counselor was busy entering data, glancing in at the soldier, back at the pad, and then curious glances up at the pilot and the agent as the Director continued.
"I hear you're not satisfied with the newest recruit?"
"Sir. I have some questions regarding his ability to follow orders."
"I hope you'll keep a record of them as he goes through his basic training. At the end, if he hasn't answered them sufficiently, I will hear them out."
Carolina stiffened for a moment, but 479 knew the other woman wasn't about to argue against the Director. The formal, crisp, "Very well, Sir." was nothing less then what she'd come to accept from the top agent.
"We'll get him mopped up and in a base suit tonight. He'll be yours tomorrow at 0400. Dismissed."
The women gave him a final salute, and then filed out of the room.
While Carolina headed off to the training room, no doubt where she would vent her frustrations and mull over serious questions against a training dummy (or whatever live dummy happened to be near enough to be roped into a sparring session with her), 479er wasn't finished with the new recruit yet. Pilot, Recruiter, Handler. She was versatile in her assignements with the Project. She'd been the one looking into this brute, and when someone had smashed a bottle over his head and he returned it by smashing that person's head into the counter, she figured he'd be a good fit for their little family.
She took out her own data pad and queued up a list of the United States. There were checkboxes by all, some of them blank as had yet been unassigned, the rest greyed out with a little green checkmark. Only one was full out blocked with a red X. Texas. Reserved.
The soldier leaned back and looked at her as she entered, fully armored but at ease. There was just a very faint recognition, as he'd only seen her when he was finally slipping into unconsciousness as she came to retrieve him after the whole brawl.
"Hey there, big guy. You put on quite a show down there." She rounded the table and sat in the empty seat. There was still a sense of military professionalism in the precise nature of her movements, the the cadence of her voice and tilt of her head caused the soldier to ease somewhat.
He replied with an amused little grunt. She knew from watching him that he wasn't a big fan of Words, but that he could use them when the fancy struck.
"So I can give you a couple options here. My superior had to do a lot of bargaining to get you this far; the MPs wanted you locked up and scheduled for a court marshal before the dust even settled, but if you want to stay out of that, you're going to have to agree to this." She tapped a key on her datapad and slid it over to him. He looked from her to the pad, curious, and then read it.
Skimmed is more like it. She could see he was looking for key bits of information, combing the terms and conditions and parameters but not reading every sentence. What it outlined was that if he agreed, he would be at the sole discretion of the Director of Project Freelancer and the top ranking Agent of whatever unit he was assigned. He'd be fed three square meals a day, be given shared quarters, given clothing, weapons, and training to aid the war.
He would no longer be in the army. His actions were grounds for dishonorable discharge, but in agreement to the contract he was looking at, he'd be declared dead and spared the shame.
If he declined the contract, he'd be given over to the MPs, and all that that implied.
He set the datapad down and looked at her, locking his eyes on the visor with a particular intensity that unnerved 479. She was in full armor, and the Director and Cousnelor were watching, and there were armed guards just outside the door. She couldn't help thinking back to the bar fight and seeing how instinctively and brutally he'd reacted, that he'd been a force to reckon with even before he'd enlisted, and they'd given him the training he needed to make killing things second nature. She had speed, but he had everything else.
"They'll let me kill things?"
"The right things. As many as you want. Scores. Hundreds. Too many to count." Hell, take them all out, just as long as they weren't fellow agents everyone should be good.
He gives a nod, slides a stylus out from its sheath on the datapad, and scrawls his name on the surface. He handed it back to 479, who tapped tapped tapped and then handed it back.
It showed the list of states.
"Welcome to Project Freelancer. First course of business is to choose your new name."
