The man strolled into the recruitment centre. The air conditioning unit was the only sound, fighting to maintain a chill that would creep up the spine of waiting applicants. The recent heat wave on planet Cambridge was only a temporary phenominum, and accounted as one of the reasons for that particular day to be chosen by the applicant to apply. The small stone farmhouse that he lived in, a few kilometres from a nearby Crop Collection Point, had no air conditioning. He had only lived in it for two years, after he had purchased the stones and the cement and pieced it together like a jigsaw puzzle, and had so far found no need to install one. He was the sort of man who would only buy what he needed, once it was proven that he needed it.
He sat down in one of the steel-mesh seats, and observed the room. White walls. White doors. White seats. A textbook definition of a neutral room. There were three white tables at the far end of the room, each with a single chair and a computer terminal. The other chairs formed three rows, each one leading to a terminal. After each applicant had finished his application on the terminal, all others would move forward one chair, to ensure that noone sat in the centre just for the sake of sitting down. Comfort was not a primary concern when designing the first impressions of the Bretonian Armed Forces.
Seven minutes and twenty-seven seconds after sitting in the closest unoccupied chair to a terminal, he moved the final step to the table. A friendly female voice greeted him, its patronising voice as clear as the light of day.
'Welcome applicant. Please press the large green button to the right of the screen when it flashes, and fill in the application. Good luck.' The button flashed, and Robert Hallam obediantly touched the button and watched the application appear on the screen. He quickly scanned it, and began to type in his responses.
Name: Robert Hallam. Callsign: This going to be what people refer to me as? Alright, I'll go with: Pitchfork. SKYPE Username: tomtomsatnav92 Gender: Male. Age: 25. Date of Birth: April 20th 793 A.S. Place of Birth: Glynneath, planet Cambridge. Nationality: Bretonian.
Fitness: Well I've been doing manual farm work for about eight years, so I'm going to go with: Excellent. Height: One metre ninety centimetres. Weight: Ninety-six kilogrammes. Vision: As good as you can get, after all of the carrots I've been eating. *Inserts chuckle*
Brief History of yourself and your family: Well, was born in the small village of Glynneath. If this sort of stuff matters to you, I have pure Bretonian blood. That sort of stuff doesn't matter to me much, because it's my blood so in my book it's pure. Glynneath is a small old time farming village, so I was raised to work the tools the old way: with hard labour. More satisfying that way I was taught, and I agree with that. But anyway, back to brief. I got average grades in school, as book smarts isn't my speciality, and worked for pay with my family until I could build my own house. Yeah, more satisfactory work for me. Anyway, after two years of farming by myself, hiring a few guys to help me out as well, I realised I didn't want to be farming all my life. So I paid for some flight sim lessons, and here I am now.
Previous Medical History: Well, eating healthily and exercising regularly, combined with the advanced medical technologies of today, give me a superb health. Nothing worth mentioning, just a few colds here and there.
Combat experience: Well, got about a month in flight simulator lessons, which I'm above average for, despite these big hands of mine.
Reasons for signing up for the Armed Forces: I don't want to be farming for the rest of my life. No risk in that, no thrill. And if I do the same thing for the rest of my life, that pretty much makes me a machine now doesn't it?
List seven characteristics of your person that you believe makes you suited for the job. (Killing shouldn't be one of them.): Now this's going to be a tough one... Hmm... Well; I'm dedicated. I'm capable. I like a challenge. I'm used to following orders. I'm willing to try new things. I don't get panicky in a dangerous situation. And I'm very good at influencing people.
Are you transferring from the reserve fleet? If yes, why are transferring. If no, please explain where you're transferring from Well, I'm transferring from a muddy field to active service.
[17:45:39] Wolfs Ghost (Murphy): Tom, you have problems. Go kill yourself.
[19:25:12] Johnny (Jam): Tomtom, I will beat you with a spoon.
[14:22:56] Prarabdh Thakur: KILL HIM WITH A SHEEP.
[17:40:48] Eagle (Junes): Tom should be slapped with a spoon.
[11:32:18] Warspite: Thank you for being so awesome Tom. <3
[18:17:36] Metano: I love you tomtom
[20:06:24] Warspite: I will seriously give you epic head.
' Wrote:Edit: also, Tomtomrawr, fappin' like a boss.
