"Hrm. So, you know how to use a pistol comrade, or at least you think you do... Tell me, who was Comrade Commodore Jan Richtoven, and how did he die? Who commands the vessel named in his honour?"
The Commissar leans back in his chair, and lights a massive cigar stub from an equally large lighter. Blowing clouds of noxious smoke in the candidates face, he adopts a pose of indulged patience.
The Commissar, a thin, dangerous looking man wearing a greatcoat despite the station's heating, glowered at Anton from behind his large, empty desk. An old gunpowder, single-action revolving pistol sat in the center of the massive slab of metal, with a single round beside it. The Commissar rose, and pointed a gloved, menacing finger at the weapon.
"Listen to me, scum, and listen good!" He hissed in a voice of chipped glass and scorched steel. "If you lie to me, that round will be going in your face! If you've only come here to waste my time, or to fulfill some kind of insane fantasy, put the damn bullet in yourself. Well? What'll it be?"
The Commissar snatched the pistol off the desk, opening the chamber with a stern flick of the wrist, and dropping the round inside. Raising a long, leather-enclosed finger, he spun the chamber with a whirrrr, watching Anton's sweating face. With a crack, and another flick of the wrist he closed it, gazing at the perspiration dripping off the candidate's nose. Laying it back on the desk, he smiled and folded his arms over his chest.
"Now, I've seen more scum like you than I can count, coming in here and hoping that I give two shakes for some ex-merc clown. 'Cousin in the Hessians' " he sneered, imitating the man's voice. "If I had a bloody medal for every time someone came in with an unknown, long-lost 'cuz' in the bloody revolution, I'd look like Weise!"
The Commissar reached forward with his unnaturally long arm, and lifted Anton clear off the ground, bringing him close, and sneering into his eyes. With his other hand, he snatched the pistol off the desk, and pressed the muzzle into Anton's left nostril, whilst cocking it with his thumb.
Staring into the man's terrified eyes, he spat, "Now! Who told you to come here? Who are you working for? Where did you get the balls to come in here with so blatant a lie! Who are you working for? Is it the Rheinlanders? Is that it? Have they decided that shooting at us is a loosing proposition finally? Who do you work for, SPY?!
Jack Handey Wrote:I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.
