The Recruitment Officer is just looking forward to shift change, when the doors slide inevitably open. He sighs, opening his eyes to study the latest hopeful candidate.
His brow creases in amusement. The figure is no more than a lad, unclean, unshaven and possessing a vaguely haunted expression.
"Can I help you?"
The boy shuffles closer, glancing around the quiet office.
"I want to join," he says.
The Officer takes sympathy. This boy was clearly not made of the right stuff. "I'm not sure that a career in the military is appropriate for you, if I'm perfectly honest." He motions to the guard. "The private here will escort you out, and perhaps pay for a good meal if you're lucky."
Unexpectedly, in a blur of limbs, the boy removes the hand being laid on his shoulder and throws the soldier to the ground.
The Officer blinks.
"What's your name?" he asks, stopping the second guard from intervening.
The boy looks at him, a quiet fire simmering in his eyes. "Kyle Hunton."
"Where are you from? Why do you want to join?"
"I have nothing. My parents served in the navy, but were killed in action when I was five. I've been living on the streets of New London ever since."
"You have some skill there, son." The Officer hands him a form. "And a fighting spirit. Let's see if we can make something of you..."
