[color=0072bc][b]NEMO ALTARE[/b][/color]

A lake, an absolute lake of tan and brown lay before Nemo now, rippling gently under the cold, soft blue of the early morning hours. He'd gone through the inspection with ease, mostly due to his mental fortitude and a peculiar ability to recognize what those with a position of power MOST wanted...to dominate. To this degree, Nemo was more than happy to oblige, faking an act of terror all the way in the back lines, right up to--and even past--the point when the captain looked him up and down, grunted, and moved on. He already understood the workings of this camp, why they were here, what the instructors were looking for. A soldier of the military would have to think, act, perhaps even breath with the consciousness of his comrades on his mind...always. They had to be determined, resolute, organized, all the words that made up the term "Military". With that in mind, it was easy to understand why the recruits here were going to be pushed to their limits...battered to a pulp, and in some rare cases...broken beyond a point they could return to. 

To become a soldier--to think clearly, with a constant mindset of what the battlefield was like, where you were needed, what was needed in order for victory to be achieved--one would have to be broken down and rebuilt. Again, the tan-skinned boy understood this logic...without a solid base for their forces, it would be hard to achieve even the slightest bit of discipline. Here, on this enormous patch of dusty earth, the workings of that process would begin, starting with the scrutinizing break-down of each recruit's former life, past, personality...everything that defined a person as, "them self".

Of course, Nemo had no such desire to become a part of this machine...indeed, he intended to become the conductor; neither the postion of the engineer nor the perseverance of the cog would satisfy him otherwise. Having made this decision long ago, it was now clear to him that he would have to study and calculate his proper place among the military, with the highest chances of rising through the ranks and obtaining his brass. The Military Police held a false-power, capable only of pacing the streets and wiping the boots of the monarchy they served. They held an arrogant mask before their faces, hoping it would be enough to fool the world from seeing the child-like mentalities behind it. It did not fool Nemo. 

The Survey Corps also served as yet another hand of the empire, albeit the one constantly being thrust into the boiling pot...intent on touching a surface they would never be able to reach without being scalded to the bones. Again, the risk for reward was too low, too dangerous, too dull. They molded lakes of blood into pictures of wings, hoping it would be enough to impress the boldest and the bravest into following a cause of tremendous stupidity; unequipped, unprepared, and certainly unknowing of the true waste they would be doing for the empire by chasing those pictures. It did not impress Nemo.

Only the Garrison stood as a solid truth to Nemo. They held the walls, this they had done...and always would do. No other purpose was needed in a world largely inhabited by creatures capable of crushing the fleeting dreams of a Scout, or the futile power of an Officer. Only the Garrison held some semblance of hope in a world so vicious towards the fearful race of man. Only the Garrison would do, for this certain recruit's ambitions. 

Around him stood a full few companies of recruits, chattering away as they shared hopes, dreams, ambitions, all that they only assumed they could achieve with the apparent "power" of being a soldier. They believed by being here, they could learn how to beat the obscenely large threat living outside the walls...as it had always done. They believed they, being the next generation, could change the world in tremendous and amazing ways. 

...They believed a naive dream, held onto by those lacking a proper understanding of what this world TRUELY was...a place of beauty...of wonder...of beasts, each striving to do anything and everything to survive. By year's end, half of them would realize they had neither the discipline nor the strength to live as a soldier. The other half would be split up into thirds, and from there would spend the rest of their lives pretending, propitiating, or protecting the populace they lived and died for.  Nemo already knew where he stood...but he wondered...

...how many others felt so strongly?