#violetscion

First impressions were everything. That’s why Angelo’s uniform is in even more tip-top shape then it is most days - that’s why all the buttons are done up, the collar nice and level with everything else, and not a crease found in sight. Because you really only got one chance to make a first impression with somebody - and when this somebody would be your handler and your new commanding officer for the next year and a half, you wanted things to be started off on the right foot. 

And that’s where Angelo found themselves. In front of the door leading to Garma’s office, a file folder clasped in between long fingers. Frontal had given the go ahead to have young Angelo be transferred to Earth and away from the relative confines of the deep space Sides that they had been stationed at, to not only gain valuable combat experience, but also to turn Angelo into an even more effective mobile suit pilot. One that could harness the wildfire that was Angelo’s emotions and turn it into a focused weapon. 

Being apart of California Base and training under Garma Zabi was a good call, then. 

@violetscion

To say that Colton was a well dressed, and good looking, soldier was understating it. In fact, that was half the reason that he managed to get up the ranks so quickly, and hold such a plum position within the Zeonic army ranks at 26. Duty went only so far as being able to look good when you were getting promotions and commendations. The other half was that he was a damn good soldier - and what he did had merit. He heard complaints from the other Zeon foot soldiers that they were basically superfluous, and that as guardians of protected Zeon territories, they were bored. Why couldn’t they be mobile suit pilots, they asked? Well, Colton was able to show his skill as a regular ol’ foot soldier, and had managed to be rewarded for it by becoming a part of Kycilia’s inner circle of teams to do her bidding, and getting to be the commanding officer in charge of the Coyote Squadron. Which, considering her interest it, mostly had to do with sabotaging and learning more about the inner workings of the Federation R&D and science structure, especially the Newtype labs that had begun to pop up on Earth, and in some of the Federation aligned sides. 

Shoes click on the tile floor as the male walks down the hallway, dressed in a, compared to some of the Zeonic generals and officers, modest black uniform, piped in gold. Aside from a small badge which represented his naval rank (Lieutenant Commander) and another which represented his place in the Mobile Assault Force, nobody would know that he was a Zeonic soldier. That was the point - Coyote Squadron was designed to do the dirty work that Zeon didn’t want to be traced back to. Colton knew, but the other soldiers didn’t, that if it got to that point, any and all ops of theirs would be denied by the Zeonic government, and the team disbanded and scattered into the wind. Sure, the team was wholly  funded by Zeon, used Zeonic weaponry, albeit the rare prototypes and toys that only special forces could wield, but for all intents and purposes, they were a rogue player. A group of terrorists. 

Their next operation would be more of a long con, trying to hit some soft targets, and targets of interest, in North America. For that, Colton would have to fall under the command of Garma Zabi, the well known pretty boy youngest son of the Zabi royal family, who had essentially been gifted this position out of nepotism and was desperate to prove otherwise. His desire to impress Kycilia would be a wonderful bargaining chip in order to get whatever he needed to get the job done. Granted, considering his work, anything less then total cooperation was a non-starter, but to have such a powerful ally, and somebody desperate to get said ally’s attention, was a massive benefit. 

@violetscion

“Ten-HUT!” With that call to attention, the “honor guard” of the 1st Walking Dead Battalion snapped upwards with a scraping of boots on the floor and a couple of stifled grunts.

Normally, the walking wounded members of the specialty Mobile Suit unit wouldn’t have bothered with the formality, their cares for military precision having been blown from them along with their limbs through the hated Federations weapons, but this was a SPECIAL occasion. 

The stillness of the room was further disturbed by the rhythmic “Clunk. Clunk. Clunk” of rubberized metal hitting the floor. The honor guard’s leader made his approach to the head of the assembled unit, crutches hitting the floor with every pause. His legs dangled uselessly beneath him; both were prosthetic from the hips down. Normally this would have been the end of the soldier’s military career. 

But this was the Walking Dead Battalion...and this was Volk Zeon Haring. His legs had been taken from him far before the Great Liberation had begun, and he had lived without them since then.  One did not need legs to pilot a mobile suit. One did not need legs to make the hated Federation BLEED. 

Volk paused, youthful face scanning those under his command; 2nd Squad, 1st Walking Dead Battalion. 

“Pathetic. I expected more from you all than this.” He stalked forward slightly, crutches banging the floor with each movement. 

“Where is your pride, soldiers of Zeon? Where is your FIRE? This is no mere inspection, no simple report...this is a time of glorious honor! We are to be visited by Garma Zabi himself, head of the entire Earth assault force and heir to the most holy of seats within our righteous new empire! The very man who you will all swear to give your lives for when he takes his place as our new leader!”

He turned again. 

“I would SUGGEST you all show a BIT more enthusiasm and proper pride...or you might find yourself facing the Federation in the next battle without a Mobile Suit! Am I CLEAR?!”

“YES SIR!” The various walking wounded snapped to a more formal attention, as much as those that could were able too. Some were excused; those without legs, the paralized. Volk let it slide, stalking down the line, crutches still banging. 

The base’s door began to cycle, and the squad leader turned.  Now, was the moment. 

“SIEG ZEON!” As one, his men returned the rallying cry. 

send me a ✧ and i’ll bold all that apply to your muse.

“Oh? You think to stand in the way of the one destined to reach and rule over the promised land? Hm hm, someone who wishes save the illness known as humanity or simply another ambitious fool seeking the glory of slaying the legend of SOLDIER? Well no matter the reason come forth and I shall show you what is to come for all of your kind, the power of my Mother... Jenova.”

Neil brought a hand up to his face covering his bandaged eye as he was struck with more pain. “Don’t make me... please...” The last word sounded almost pathetic as he continued to look at Garma from the side. “I just want to sleep.” Maybe if he made Garma feel bad he would leave. It was kind of a shady move, but what else could he do?