A man walks into the CPW-Trotsky's recruitment office, guards at his side. His escort was in lieu of his being in a long since unused Comissioned officers uniform, sporting Coalition insignia on the shoulder, showing his rank as Leiutenant. His Squadron patch hasn't been in active duty since the restructuring, and identifies the man as a possible threat. His uncommon fighting vessel, while an adept, and stout snubnose, its foreign technology shows that he hasn't been in the fold for some time. It is only fitting that he be guarded, as well as disarmed, for his own safety.
Looking around the Recruitment office and hearing the familiar ring of gunshots, he smiles to himself, and steps to the desk.
"Lieutenant, sorry, former Lieutenant Y'Bastahd, reporting for either interviewing, or de-briefing, whichever it may be." He says clearly, handing the customary paper to the clerk, Name and basic details as expected. He then turns a sharp right and takes an empty seat, to await his turn.
He leans his head back closing his eyes, thinking to himself, 'It's good to be home.'
