#foundation 101

None.

Those are usually a result of a:

1. Funny story;

2. Humiliating story;

3. A funny story when you fucked up real hard and it's still humiliating.

It also can be the result of a peculiar trait of the bearer, e.g. our dear misspelled Agent "UkElele". He literally has an ukulele. He's a fucking bard with a shotgun and absolutely insane charisma stats for a short guy.

As for the other lads out there... Mmmmmhmph. The cooler the name, the more embarrassing must be the backstory of the regal bearer.

Just to set an example, years ago we've got a cat in the barracks and, naturally, gave it a nickname. "Spider" must sound cool, aye? Jokes on you, the cat dined with Christmas tinsel once and pooped sparkly ropes for a week, creating intricate webbings of shit all over the place.

D'you get it now?

And GODS FORBID you lie about the origins of the nickname or try to choose it yourself – you'll be given a worse one.

I gotta fiddle with my network access and ask for a proofread, meanwhile you can speculate:

Perhaps you remember my last homeroom. If you don't—you've probably done some shite that required a healthy dose of amnestics. But worry not. I know a lad who'd gladly tattoo the following lecture on your arse.

So. I've got a fella nicknamed "Snickers". D'you have any ideas why he received such a callsign?

Yes, he runs kinda fast. Not the point.

Defecation? Oh, thank you, Jenkins, but no. He ain't the well-known cat. Though it's definitely getting warmer.

Aaand aye. The chocolate bar. By the way, we do neither wine nor muffins at MeD. I've got KitKats. 

Sure. Help yourselves.

And while ye're munchin’... Look, the simplest answer is almost always the closest to the truth. Never invent your patients' symptoms unless you were given some specific instructions to do so. 

Does it look like a radiated corpse? It probably is a radiated corpse. Leave the rest to the research team, because you ain't gonna become the next Pathos Crow. Earth-2149's crude rendition of Peter Parker at best. Subtract the cool powers and walking. 

Ahem. We already work with various anomalous crap, so try not to make your lives harder. 

Pointy ears on me, Vincent. Have I promised to replace O- with Lugol's? I will. Thanks.

Back to Snickers. Look at the screen: a tad sweaty lad is biting on a chocolate bar. In fact, he was offered some pogey bait by a bunch of grateful civilians. All cute indeed until he heard a click. 

Such a childish rule there is: don't take candy from strangers.

So easy to follow. 

But nooo, we ended up stuck. In the middle of a bloody desert. For two hours, waiting for a bomb squad to arrive. And for another five while they were defusing the damn—

*Crack.*

…

Whoever has pissed is bestowed with a new callsign. Whoever didn't, still check for phthalein caps. I rarely ask for this, pups—… don't swallow. 

You good? Very well. Moral of the story.

If it isn't a direct order—think twice. But if I bark "DOWN", you don't ask why, you don't look around to get a headshot...

No.

I want you hit the deck before your neurons fire, because I will be timing you. Every. Single. Drill.

Keep the chocolates. Play Russian roulette with those for all I care.