Captain Petrovin walked into the recruitment office; he'd been getting a course in the new military ever since he was thankfully plucked from the league of Commissars. For almost a year he'd worked the "underground", doing the dirty deeds no one else felt compelled to. But with the rise of the new order, the ranks of the Commissars were... diminished. It was by the grace of God and a few people up top that spared him from that particular fate.
And so here he was, stopping by on the Trotsky, back in the same room he'd once fretted in. It seemed like ages ago.
He smiled at Alicia and gave her a curt nod. Whether or not she returned it, he didn't notice, for he was already sizing up the man standing face to face with the duty Commissar's door.
"Hm, the next batch I see," Konstantin said, walking up to the man slowly. "I see you're having a bit of a problem with this process, mm?"
The man turned to look at him, clearly confused at the sudden appearance of the stranger.
"Well let's see then..."
For around thirty agonizingly slow seconds, the Coalition pilot eyed the man up and down, as if picking apart the man's every feature, every blemish, every stray thread on the man's clothes.
And Kostya furrowed his brows, frowned, and simply said, "Too young."
