USCMRPG

Sol system, Earth, Gateway Station, Room 102B
Mission timer: 00.00.00

The room was square in shape however one of the walls curved inward near the roof and floor like a tube. On the middle of the curved wall a window made of thick plasteel displayed a pitch black space backdrop. The interior of the room was white and gray, the floor made of square slabs of plastic material and the roof and walls of millions of light emitting diodes. The whole room, except the floor, was a large 3d screen. A rendered USCM flag waved behind the platoons new Lieutenant, a female named Ericson. The blonde Lieutenant had her hair cut in a sharp paige and her face was slightly angular, the blue eyes gave her a hard impression. She didn't smile.

Next to her stood an artificial person with the nametag of Monk. Artificial persons were standard on all USCM missions so that was nothing new. That didn't mean that all marines liked APs. Many distrusted them, especially since a series a few years back had malfunctioning behavioral inhibitors - Which resulted in a few unfortunate deaths. The most notable being the death of the talkshow host Sabinas au pair which were beaten to death with a vacuum cleaner by a Hyperdyne series AP.

Ericson looked at her watch. It was still a few minutes to 1600 hours central universe time.

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Feeling slightly self-concious as he entered the artificially brightened room, Rednus stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his boot, and brushed some ash from his outfit. The look from new Lieutenant confirmed this was the correct course of action. Standing to attention, he saluted, then relaxed, gave a nod to Monk, and awaited the arrival of the other marines.

Duncan entered the room, using the standard marching pace that had been drilled into him on Parris Island. He saw the rendered flag, and the rather stern officer standing in front of it. Also present was one of the other marines, Cpl. Chappel. He had met him in the mess hall previously. He seemed personable, but the atmosphere clearly discouraged casual dereliction of the standard protocol.

He gave the officer a crisp salute, and stood at attention.

Private Eichler eventually found where he was to report into his new command who was being reformed at the moment. His "seabags" were left on Gateway's Main Supply deck to be put on his new unit's ship.

The room seemed very sparse and barren for even a meeting room. He knew that no matter how hard he tried he'd look like a Boot. Being a Boot is just an inevitability of military life. There were four others in the room. He noticed his fresh, bright uniform was similar to one of them, while another, a Corporal, had some faded cammies, evident he was salty at one level or another.

He drew himself up to the others, trying to look as professional as possible before dropping into line to the left of the other Private where he assumed his spot at a somewhat correct distance. He almost wanted to salute when the not too distant voice of a Drill Instructor pierced his conscious, Marines! Don't salute uncovered or indoors! You wanna do that?! Freakin' poke your eyes out and join the freakin' Colonial Army!

Man they were right, those guys never cursed but the intensity of everything else was still there. He dropped to "at ease" and waited for the platoon sergeant to show up and call them to attention. He didn't feel like looking around much so kept a more modified "parade rest," looking forward.

I really hope I'm in the right place.,,

When the Lieutenant entered the room, Sixtus bounded to his feet and barked "ATTEN-SHUN!" which called the entire unit to stand at attention for the officer. When she softly said "As you were.", he settled into his seat.

To those who were new to the unit, Sixtus was a fairly thin man with a five o'clock shadow. His electric blue eyes were incredibly bright though. A patch on his right arm indicated he was a corpsman. Navy corpsmen being attached to Marine units had ceased long ago, with the Marines training their own combat medics.

Sixtus leaned back, his right foot coming up to rest on his left knee as he waited for the briefing to begin.

Private Samantha Hall sat in her chair, letting her memory drift off to her days growing up on the Colony world of New Kingston; imagining the sea breeze on her face when Corporal Quinn barked out; "Atten-shun!"

Training took over and Sam found herself responding in typical Pavlovian fashion; hopping to and bracing herself as the female Lieutenant; whose name tag read "Ericson", came into the room. She soon relaxed as the woman responded with "As you were".

Sitting back down in her chair; Hall took in her fellow marines; several were familiar to her, including Quinn and Kurosaki while others looked like they were brand new to the unit. Sam found herself wondering what this mission's objectives would be and where they would take her unit...

Morse was chewing on the nail on his index finger leaning on a wall. He had recently tried to stop doing that, but a habit like that was hard to break, let alone not stoop back in to. His teeth were grinding around the nail, as he thought about gnawing it off. But he didn't as he was able to hold it back. At least he washed his hands frequently, but this concept of stopping it had been driving him out of his mind from the second he decided to stop it. No long term planning for it, just one day he decided he should stop, and the short nail on one thumb put next to the normal one on his other showed that he was having trouble with it all.

When he heard the announcement of an officer he was already starting to stand. "Shit." He spat quickly as he was lifting up. He wasn't getting up because he saw them, but because the reflex had long since been put into his mind. He looked over to see a Lieutenant, and standing next to her what was no doubt a droid. Fuckin' robots. He thought to himself. He couldn't stand the damn robots that came with them, and he'd actually forgotten, as he usually did, that they even brought androids. But the reality of the thing came back to him as he saw them. The worst part he always found about them was that they considered themselves 'sentient beings', like the title even applied to them. They were just things, toys in human colored wrapping, and nothing more. He waited for the briefing to begin, and for him to hear of the upcoming mission that he would no doubt hate. He took a seat, and kept his arms folded.

Rascal strode into the briefing room, goofy grin slapped across his face. First thing he noticed (of course) was that the el-tee was a chick; Hmm, this could be fun after all, he thought, tossing himself into the nearest seat. A weathered sergeant barked out for a salute, causing Rascal to grimace before he automatically snapped to attention; he thought he had gotten away from all the rituals after Boot. Thankfully, the el-tee brushed it off.

That's when Rascal noticed the synth standing next to her. Robots...great. He couldn't trust something that so fervently wanted to be human. It was simply unnatural, not to mention the staggering amounts of evidence to their eventual breakdown.

He stewed in his anxiety, absentmindedly watching more troops flow into the room, some obviously experienced, others just as green as he was. Wonder when the show'll start so i can get the hell away from that thing.

Lowering himself back into his seat after the LT told the marines to sit, Obi reached down to the chair leg and recovered his brew mug that he had stragetically placed when Quinn had called the platoon to attention. Quickly looking around the room, Obi noticed quite a few of the faces, nodding and smiling to the old faces and giving a keen eye over the new ones. Taking a sip of his brew, Obi settled back, content, as the caffeine hit infused with his system. Mmmm, real coffee, damn that hits the spot just nicely. Obi thought as removed his PDA from his thigh pocket on his cams and waited to take notes as the LT began her briefing...

Sergeant Kurosaki entered the room, surveying it for any threats. Finding none, he entered the room. He was pleased to be transferred back in, after the disastrous mission with his four man team. He had been lucky to get out alive.
He shook his head. There was no point in dwelling in the past.
He had received the orders to join up and he was pleased to see that he kept his Sergeant rank and that he was a part of the command squad.
As he walked up to his place near the lieutenant, he noticed that a private was eyeing up the Lieutenant and neglected to salute. Kurosaki yelled at him to salute, and the private did and moved away.
He stood about 3 meters away from the Lieutenant, slightly behind her and waited for her to speak.

Private Frank Silas slid quietly into an empty seat and produced a worn notepad and pencil. He had a relaxed demeanour, this was the easy part.

Several of the other marines had already found seats and it appeared that the sergeant had already taken his place behind the el tee. Silas' flipped through his notepad passed a large number of messy drawings and schematics to an empty page and waited.

Marcus was walking briskly through the hall, he wasn't going to be late. He was going to arrive exactly with a moment to spare. He'd gauged the distance, and was he entered, saw he was probably the last to get there. He noted those up front, a female LT and an AP, before finding a place to sit.

He kept his eyes focused and his mouth shut. If he was addressed he'd speak....... Why was he so damn nervous? Training was over... and that was exactly it. Damnit he was tense.

The AP didn't strike him as odd. Though he wondered if it was the sort that preferred 'Android' to Artificial Person' Marcus preferred Android. 'Artificial Person'- He cut his thoughts and focused on the Officer attending.

Dirk walked into the briefing room and looked around. Marines milled around, getting ready for the officer that stood at the front of the room to start the briefing. Crushing out his cigarette he stuffed the butt in his pocket, unsure if the LT would allow smoking.

Sighing, he ran his hands down his face feeling the three long scars that ran down the right side of his face tat came from a harvester. He had lost most of his men on that drop. He knew that is he felt the right side of his neck he would feel the acid burns that came from a very light misting. He almost didn't make it that time, but somehow he always seemed to pull through.

It was good to be back with the eights. He had been away too long, But it was good to be home.