She’s deep in thought and tired from staring down the barrel of a sparking junction box all day, body on autopilot-- but the way he says her name, the way his voice carries, makes her pause.

She’s exhausted, turns like she’s caught in mud, irritation spiking at the precious hours of free time this stranger is starting to whittle away-- and a stranger he is. He’s dressed far too nice to be a coworker. Brass, maybe? But what would GMH want with its little fishes?

“No,” she says, tiny piece of petulance coloring her tone, irritation at a question already answered. “I’m on tomorrow.” It’s nearing 8-- she has to be up at 4:30. Half an hour commute. Then twelve more hours of servitude. Dinner and a cigarette and a PBR somewhere in between.

Against her better judgment, she asks, “What do you want?” but the venom has gone out of her voice. She’s too tired to produce her own poisons.

⚰︎ recruitment, act I

THEO BECKETT

Cyg frowned. Watches him handle his cigarettes with the kind of pale, sober jealousy that weighs heavy in your cheeks. Pulls your face downwards. That’s where she wants to be-- home, smoking, sleeping. Not being accosted in the streets by-- whomever the fuck this was.

He did seem important, though. No one important ever noticed her.

“I reached out to you…” she said, voice trailing off, a night mist breaking before the morning sun. She sucked her cheek, grabbing at memories, willing something to snap into place.

Then, like a lightbulb: “Wait…”

A dim, broken one, with a burnt-out fuse, spitting sparks.

She took a few steps closer, which turned into more, which brought her into his airspace.

“The-- the assessment test?” she asked, shoulder forward, as though a barrier between her next words and anyone who might hear.

“The Rocket assessment test?”

A whisper. A hiss. A dare to hope.

It was, Cyg decided, a good thing if your life could throw surprises at you even as you succumbed to the monotony of your day to day.

⚰︎ recruitment, act I

THEO BECKETT

A shiver of excitement passes through her, coalescing in her stomach. Oh, my god. Oh, my god?

Her face falls. ”This isn’t a scam, is it?” she asks. Because people in scams always identify themselves before doing said scamming.

Is she still interested? ”Hell yeah, I’m interested.” She crosses her arms. ”Provided this is legit.” It’s not argumentative petulance she speaks with but a crumbling disappointment.

Please, please be real.

⚰︎ recruitment, act I

THEO BECKETT

She exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. It would never have occurred to her in a million, bazillion years that the little aptitude test she took on a whim would have actually-- that she would’ve scored-- holy shit.

“That’s fine,” she said, chest constricting with excitement, “that’s-- more than fine. I’m already staring down the barrel of my own mortality.” Looking forward to thirty years of doing the same thing, day in and day out, until she died, or got too arthritic from work to work.

What she knew of Rocket could fill a thimble. She had an idea of it in her head, and then, next to it, a monstrous, out-of-control version that most of the public knew. The Kanto takeover. The bloodshed. The nastiness.

She didn’t care. She wanted a change-- and metamorphosis wasn’t always the prettiest thing to witness.

“I’m always looking to broaden my scope,” she added, as though this were a job interview.

⚰︎ recruitment, act I

THEO BECKETT

Cyg froze, eyes widening in alarm. “I--,” she started, then stopped, brow furrowing. This was clearly a test and she didn’t know what the answer was.

Her hand dropped to her ID badge, clipped to her hip pocket.

“I’m small potatoes,” she confessed, tugging it free, “so my clearance is pretty low level. Schedules, time clock, company calendar.”

She held it out, trying to hide the tremble in her hand. It didn't feel like a betrayal after five years of service and little to show for it.

⚰︎ recruitment, act I

THEO BECKETT

Cyg swallows. She doesn’t like how small this man makes her feel. Not that that’s anything new, of course-- it’s part of the reason she wants to join Rocket so badly.

But she never wants to be a bootlicker.

“Not legally,” she says, letting the implications of that sink in.

⚰︎ recruitment, act I

THEO BECKETT