As he sat, quietly sipping at his beer, Cedric heard a beeping sound from his pocket. At first, he was confused since he had his own DataJockey kept in his tent. However, he quickly remembered that he had snatched Avel's away mere moments after she had attempted to kill herself. Fishing in to his pocket with one hand, Cedric looked at the DataJockey with a brow quirked in curiousity, and hit the button to access the files that were displayed (rather prominently) on the screen. He read in silence as he looked over it all. It wasn't too much in terms of literary content, then again Avel was most likely no poet, and she didn't need to employ many words to get her message across. She had a hard life. Unfortunately she seemed to be wallowing in it. It wasn't too much of a surprise to find that she was cloned from a mass murderer, but what depressed Cedric was that she actually believed the scientists who blamed her for it.
As if she had been that prisoner.
She wasn't, though. That had been somebody else's life.
She was just making the mistake of suffering it.
Cedric went back to the first file and (while making sure nobody in the squad could see the screen, if only out of respect of privacy) he headed over to where Phaedra now sat.
"This is Avel's. You might want to read it, Sarge'." Cedric told her as he handed her the device.
After that he returned to his spot, sitting down with a sigh.
"Well, if it's stories you want: then I got a little one from my boot camp days . . ." Cedric began with a grin.
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If there was one thing that Cedric had realized in his first few days at boot camp, it was that drill sergeants never yelled at you. Instead, they had tones. High tones, fast tones, low tones, slow tones, and each of them signified varying levels of infuriation and rage. Every drill sergeant's tones were unique, like a fingerprint. However, a Marine in basic training quickly learned to recognize the differences of, and differentiate between the tones of their own drill instructors throughout the process of training. Given that it was the last week of training, everybody in Cedric's platoon had long since learned the tones of Chief Erin Carranza: the 5'4, blonde-haired, and foul-mouthed young woman who had been in charge of their platoon.
Her tone was most definitely pissed.
"Platoon!" She barked.
Everybody stood at parade rest, each Marine standing on the side of their bunk that put them in front of their own locker. Chief Carranza was marching up and down the center of the barracks, with her hands clasped behind her back, and her fiery green eyes scanning each and every one of them. She was wearing a standard Marine uniform, so from the outside nothing seemed to be too out of order. However, what couldn't be seen was that she was, in fact, not wearing a bra at that particular moment. Everybody, even those who didn't realize what was wrong, were lock-solid, and each of them were burying the fear they all felt deep inside to avoid shaking.
"It has recently come to my attention . . ." Her eyes continued to scan them all, her boots tapping against the tile floors of the barracks, ". . . that somebody has recently taken interest in my underwear!" She continued pacing, "I know for a fact that it was somebody on last night's midnight fire-watch!"
Her eyes settled on Cedric: one of only two people who had been on that fire-watch. She was shorter than him physically, but the look she gave him made him feel tiny. Even if he had done nothing wrong. He didn't dare look her in the eye, and instead watched straight ahead in a vain attempt to avoid her wrath.
"Sommerville!" She barked, nearly causing Cedric to jump, "You were on fire-watch last night. Where, might I ask, was your assigned patrol route?"
Cedric belted out his answer, without stammering, "Ma'am: this Marine was ordered to patrol the areas around the recruit barracks and the nearby mess hall, ma'am."
She quirked a brow, "Can anybody confirm you were there?"
He didn't hesitate, "Ma'am, any of the perimiter guards in that area, ma'am."
She seemed only slightly satisfied. She walked past Cedric and her two aids followed moments later. He didn't look back as he heard his matress hit the floor. This was followed moments later by the sound of his locker opening. When he saw his standard-issue tunic go flying over his head, he instantly realized that they were tearing through his things. However, they would find nothing out of the ordinary, and Cedric watched as Chief Carranza and her aids long-stepped across the barracks to a young, pale-skinned man with a cybernetic right eye who was practically shaking with the fear they all felt.
She didn't even bother to talk to him. She omved past him and slightly lifted his mattress up. Flipping it in anger, her face red with frustration, everybody could see several of her bras stuffed under his mattress, and the two aids immediatelly siezed him by the arms before he could do anything.
"Private Cuellar: in my office! Now!"
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As if she had been that prisoner.
She wasn't, though. That had been somebody else's life.
She was just making the mistake of suffering it.
Cedric went back to the first file and (while making sure nobody in the squad could see the screen, if only out of respect of privacy) he headed over to where Phaedra now sat.
"This is Avel's. You might want to read it, Sarge'." Cedric told her as he handed her the device.
After that he returned to his spot, sitting down with a sigh.
"Well, if it's stories you want: then I got a little one from my boot camp days . . ." Cedric began with a grin.
-----------------------------------------
If there was one thing that Cedric had realized in his first few days at boot camp, it was that drill sergeants never yelled at you. Instead, they had tones. High tones, fast tones, low tones, slow tones, and each of them signified varying levels of infuriation and rage. Every drill sergeant's tones were unique, like a fingerprint. However, a Marine in basic training quickly learned to recognize the differences of, and differentiate between the tones of their own drill instructors throughout the process of training. Given that it was the last week of training, everybody in Cedric's platoon had long since learned the tones of Chief Erin Carranza: the 5'4, blonde-haired, and foul-mouthed young woman who had been in charge of their platoon.
Her tone was most definitely pissed.
"Platoon!" She barked.
Everybody stood at parade rest, each Marine standing on the side of their bunk that put them in front of their own locker. Chief Carranza was marching up and down the center of the barracks, with her hands clasped behind her back, and her fiery green eyes scanning each and every one of them. She was wearing a standard Marine uniform, so from the outside nothing seemed to be too out of order. However, what couldn't be seen was that she was, in fact, not wearing a bra at that particular moment. Everybody, even those who didn't realize what was wrong, were lock-solid, and each of them were burying the fear they all felt deep inside to avoid shaking.
"It has recently come to my attention . . ." Her eyes continued to scan them all, her boots tapping against the tile floors of the barracks, ". . . that somebody has recently taken interest in my underwear!" She continued pacing, "I know for a fact that it was somebody on last night's midnight fire-watch!"
Her eyes settled on Cedric: one of only two people who had been on that fire-watch. She was shorter than him physically, but the look she gave him made him feel tiny. Even if he had done nothing wrong. He didn't dare look her in the eye, and instead watched straight ahead in a vain attempt to avoid her wrath.
"Sommerville!" She barked, nearly causing Cedric to jump, "You were on fire-watch last night. Where, might I ask, was your assigned patrol route?"
Cedric belted out his answer, without stammering, "Ma'am: this Marine was ordered to patrol the areas around the recruit barracks and the nearby mess hall, ma'am."
She quirked a brow, "Can anybody confirm you were there?"
He didn't hesitate, "Ma'am, any of the perimiter guards in that area, ma'am."
She seemed only slightly satisfied. She walked past Cedric and her two aids followed moments later. He didn't look back as he heard his matress hit the floor. This was followed moments later by the sound of his locker opening. When he saw his standard-issue tunic go flying over his head, he instantly realized that they were tearing through his things. However, they would find nothing out of the ordinary, and Cedric watched as Chief Carranza and her aids long-stepped across the barracks to a young, pale-skinned man with a cybernetic right eye who was practically shaking with the fear they all felt.
She didn't even bother to talk to him. She omved past him and slightly lifted his mattress up. Flipping it in anger, her face red with frustration, everybody could see several of her bras stuffed under his mattress, and the two aids immediatelly siezed him by the arms before he could do anything.
"Private Cuellar: in my office! Now!"
-----------------------------------------
