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[color=black][b]PART III: Perspective[/b][/color]

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[indent][indent][indent][color=556B2F]“Interesting perspective.”[/color]

Graham reached into his pockets, retrieving a pack of synthetic cigarettes from their casing. As he continued to lead the group from the transit station his eyes met those of other key staff members and pilots that were going about their duties. The veteran commander pondered what Alan could mean, as all eyes came to him. The raven-haired Denver-Vegas native looked back at the would-be pilots. He still wasn't sure about any of them, even if he more-or-less had been tasked at vetting them for the greater good. A greater good he did not particularly believe in.

The best answer he could make was pragmatic, though he knew he had to pivot to bring questions to Alan's perspective. To see how he and the other pilot's would react.

[color=556B2F]“Do you just see snow and scrap here? I think while you were busy looting corpses out beyond the trenches of Mississippi you lost the onus of what we are supposed to be doing out here in this world we have inherited.”[/color] 

A curt, “And what is that, exactly?” came from one of the pilots. It didn’t matter to Graham which one.

[color=556B2F]“Building something.”[/color] Graham smirked, unabashedly full of confidence. [color=556B2F]“New Anchorage is trying to build a coalition. The big corporations like Fairbanks and Paragon don’t really care about what’s out here in Alaska, so I’ve been tasked here to build infrastructure. You might all come from rough situations and are strapped for cash, but you should be able to see that this is going to be a whole lot better than wondering if your buddy is going to shoot you in the back of the head when the job is done.”[/color]

Graham may have never flown as an independent, but he knew what the life was like. Officially, he hadn’t been a combat pilot in over-a-decade, and unlike some of his peers he had never moved away from Denver-Vegas for his entire life. He had never stepped in the mud of Georgia or in the rust-laden graves of the Midwestern Territories. He had never wondered when his next meal would come or if his best friend thought he’d be better off killing him for a bigger cut of the money offered by some fledgling settlement with no real corporate sponsorship. That was a life he had only seen from the other side of the fence.

Sometimes he wondered if he had the right choice staying behind for as long as he did. He discarded the thought instead of dwelling on it as he continued to appraise the pilots.

[color=556B2F]“I've read all of your information. I know you want to be here. Let's get you settled and see if you can make the final cut.”[/color]













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