Candidates came and went, Vin only halfway paying attention to their introductions. He’d been told the job was already his; why did he have to go through this charade? What if these recruiters had never been told? He was beginning to worry he might have slipped through some bureaucratic gap. It’d be a colossal waste if he’d come all the way out here and not get the job. 

He was telling himself to calm down, assuring himself it’d all work out. He hadn’t really prepared, so he was trying to come up with something to say while the others were going through their introductions.

Something else kept stealing his attention, though: a white-haired woman in front of him, scribbling on a sheet of actual, physical paper. How old-fashioned, he rolled his eyes, wondering whether it was synthetic or real, actual cellulose. He doubted it was for a lack of means that she didn’t use digital; judging by her perfectly fitted clothes and carefully refined appearance, she struck him as someone wealthy. Stuck-up, too, given her attitude. She’d probably go all the way and use real paper just to show off.

Meanwhile, a rough-looking woman came up to speak. Vin thought he heard a faint mechanical whine as she lumbered past him. Some kind of leg augment? Those were rarely voluntary. She certainly looked like she’d lived a harsh life. A quick switch to thermal imaging showed her pants were leaving a colder footprint – [i]heh[/i] – than the rest of her. Both legs, then?

She introduced herself, Vin only halfway paying attention. [i]Herakles[/i]? He perked up at the mention. Might explain the legs; he certainly didn’t envy her that. Still, the name had stirred up old, unpleasant memories. But that was long ago, now. Rather not think about it.

He found his distraction when White-Hairs shook her head dismissively and began scribbling again. Her whole air was one of arrogance, and it made Vin irrationally angry. Her kind thought themselves above everyone else, and loved to remind those around them. What was she even doing here? Probably some out-of-touch misguided idealism. He hoped he wouldn’t have to work with her. Sadly, those with means often got their way, regardless of whether they were actually deserving of it.

“Vincent Marlowe!” His name was called next, the military-looking guy scanning the room before his eyes landed on Vin. He wondered how their list was sorted. Certainly not alphabetically, he thought.

“Here!” he chimed in, getting up from his seat and walking to the fore. He was still nervous, but he had at least some vague idea of what he wanted to say. 

[i]Deep breath. Calm down. Exhale. [/i]

He could wing it. That was, after all, more or less how he’d gotten through life so far.

“Vin Marlowe,” he introduced himself as he shook hands with the recruiters, wearing a smile more confidently than his internal state warranted. “Been following this thing since the start. Excited to finally be here.”

Bit stiff of an introduction, he thought, but it would do. He rested his hands behind his back and loosened up his stance.

“I’ve been tinkering with shi- [i]ahem[/i],” he cleared his throat, “[i]things [/i]– for as long as I remember. Spent about three years in the OSF as a technician, did maintenance and fixing on their ships. After that I spent a few years studying comp science. Augmented intelligence, to be specific.”

“Bit of a passion of mine, that,” he digressed and tapped the back of his head, “even had a computer installed. Helps me out in all kinds of ways.”

His tongue was loosening up, and he felt more at ease. When it came down to it, this really wasn’t too different from telling some stranger at a bar about himself.

“Anyhow, as for how all that would translate to the mission, I’m pretty flexible. If it’s mechanical, chances are I can take it apart and put it back together again. Got a pretty good grasp on computer systems too, and I reckon I can figure out how to use whatever equipment you’re planning on bringing down there.”

“Can run aug maintenance as well, if needed.” He shot a quick glance back at the woman who went before him, trying to make it seem nonchalant. What was her name again? [i]Cass. Just Cass[/i], her voice echoed internally at his prompt. He turned back to the officer and continued: “Provided no surgery’s involved,” he shrugged. “Metal I can do; meat, not so much.”

“Details are in my file,” he dropped a datastick on the desk. “Any questions before I go?”