"Average" was the word that described the man that approached the recruiting centre doors best. Short brown hair - but still a tad over military standards - brown hair, medium height and build, a bit past his prime age. His face was the epitome of neutrality and indifference. He was wearing his best suit - not saying much - that was passed down from his father. He peered up at the flashy new sign, and pushed his way through the doors and into the reception room.
His eyes instantly found the desk centered in the middle of the room, where two men were switching posts. One muttered something about a graveyard shift and the other laughed in turn before sitting down at the desk. He gave a brief sigh before pounding away at the keyboard, eyes fixed on the monitor, not even taking notice of the man standing in the doorway.
Mister Unremarkable stepped up to the plate, tapped on the desk, began a quiet "excuse me" before being cut off by the soldier behind the desk, who pointed to a stack of papers in a bin titled APPLICATION. He wasn't new to the recruiter job. His eyes flicked to the man a mere moment before pointing out the papers and returning to his computer. The "fine" attire, quickly combed but uncut hair, everything about his appearance and poise spoke of his intent.
The hopeful man gave a little sigh, scooped up a paper and clicked out a writing utensil and began filling the form out. Basic questions: name, age, nationality, the list went on for awhile. Zalus Rockwell, 37, Liberty born with Bretonnian heritage. Nothing that would make a difference between him actually getting in or not, merely database entries.
Finally, he got to the important questions. Flight experience? He thought on this a moment. He wasn't flying until he was into his 30's, but he picked it up quick. He wasn't much of a shot but he could talk his way out of situations with pirates better than most, and knew a good amount of the space. There wasn't much room for an autobiography however, so he just settled for putting 5 years - Mining and Trading.
The next question was another thinker for him. Why do want to join the Bretonnian Armed Forces? Life long reflections came back to him. From an early age he learned that there were only a few ways to make it in the world - a rich family, luck, or dirty deeds, and he didn't have the first two. He was that poor kid with the funny accent for as long as he could remember. Opportunity never knocked for him, and his family never had a ship that could leave the planet so he was locked on California Minor until he was halfway through his 20's. That was when his heart finally turned to rock and started working for himself and himself alone. His family inherited a decent sum from a deceased family member, however instead of it getting spread evenly throughout his family, a "malfunction" in the system caused it all to go straight to Zalus. It was just enough to get him a craptastic ship, but it did the job - it had a cargo hold and the ability to go into space.
His crusade of selfishness didn't stay on California Major. He never pulled the trigger on a gun, but he moved the barrel from his head to someone elses. He passed on criminal messages to police and military for the sake of his cargo, he shipped goods in between warring states, shipped goods to bandit bases. He had ditched other merchants to be picked apart by pirates while he escaped. He never slit a throat, but he'd definitely stepped on a few fingers.
His self reflection finally over, he tapped the pen on the paper a couple times before thinking of the right answer: to do some honest work. Satisfied with his answer, he handed the paper back to the recruiter, saluted, and stepped out of the recruiting centre.
