But they were not a child anymore. Now they were a scruffy, messy, cropped hair nearly a teenager who managed to survive through their early years. Scrawny, most of them had shrunk into the oversized scarf and coat – they were the awkward age where nothing seemed to fit right. They fiddled with their buttons, awkwardly peering about the space, the eyes counting the various cracks and stains in the wall. Musky and damp, there was a creeping sense of awareness to the other odours that permeated the air. Rat was one of them.
The Cadets to be had been lead along into some dark, dank part of Vienda’s underground. Potential recruits blindfolded and drawn along by touches, prods and shoves until inevitably reaching their destination with their contact. In the case of Gale it was their father, Gunner – and he was presently leaning up against one of the walls with his features hidden behind the metal mask and hood. It was his trademark piece and a necessity too, he was the Resistance gunsmith and if his identity was compromised that would prove to be nothing but trouble for them. While he seemed at ease, currently rolling up a collection of cigarettes and placing them into a tin, Gale knew he was watching.
The gaze shifted from him to the rest of the room now. Windowless, a few lanterns here and there casting the room into a glow. Stone flooring, worn with a few puddles here and there. There was a faint background hum of machinery from above – marking them as being somewhere in the soot district. Another half dozen were there also; some blindfolded, others being their obvious keepers. With it came the creeping nerves, the turning of heads to the smallest of sounds, the blinking of eyes as their sight was revealed.
Sighing, they looked over to their father, the hands moving away from the buttons. They knew he was watching, even as their hands moved and spoke silently between them in sign.
“I am bored. Why do I have to do this?”
The fingers paused on their rolling. A single hand moved away, turning and shifting in response, “Because you must. For you are now of an age where you need to be responsible.”
“But I already am.”
“You are. But you need to show it to them.”
A huff escaped, arms folding as they leaned against the wall. The sooner this was over and done with, the better as far as they were concerned. At least then the pair of them could get back to the important things. Eyes lowering, the shoulders hunched in as the vetting of the Cadets began.
It was a peppered haired man who spoke, coal dust stained clothing and leathery skin. Gale knew him simply as Coal, though they imagined such a moniker came from his profession. His voice was loud, his ears somewhat deaf, but he all in all seemed like the right sort. Least as their father would describe. The young smith never did quite trust Gunner’s opinion on people.
“Alright, listen up,” Coal began, “Good to see some new faces here today. New potential. New blood. Only way to keep this all going, getting people like you. How else we going to break the wheel of this corrupted regime? Now you’ve all got the opportunity to step up thanks to the friends who brought you,” he cleared his throat, beady eyes sweeping across the faces, “Now, seems you’ve all earned some element of trust from your friends, and now you want to show us, prove what want is the same as us – its why you’re all here, right?”