Thread: Prom Queen Goes To War (MeggyMeow x DeRe)

Ten minutes before the fresh-meat bus arrived, Sergeant Samson would begin his routine. He would drag his burly bulk off the reeking cot bed, washing out his mouth with whatever remained of last night's homemade rhubarb schnapps. The foul brew would nearly knock him back into the unconscious, hungover coma he had only just climbed out of. But the shock to the system was enough to have him on his feet. Checking his reflection over, he stared into his own bloodshot, sunken eyes and summoned up an air of authority and intimidation. In a few minutes he was going to have to go from alcoholic wreck to drill instructor. Fixing his battered beret tight over his shaven head, and taking up the leather riding crop he used as a badge of office, he left the tent with a deliberate, slow stride. He knew it took exactly one hundred and five seconds to make the path between his tent and the reception area. Boots crunched over red dust as he lurched forth, like some kind of uniformed Frankenstein's monster intent on mayhem. All the rest of the camp - from fresh grunts to veteran officers - gave the hulking, ape-like Samson a wide berth. The former feared him like a vengeful god the latter feared him for his inhuman precision. Everyone knew of his reputation, of the stories of massacres and disgrace and demotion, but none would ever dare mention them in his presence. The Butcher of Berkeley was easily the most dreaded man on site. Samson himself didn't like to dwell on the past, hence the nightly drunken comas. When he sometimes wondered how it all went wrong, he felt it began about ten years ago with the first real famines and water riots. He was a captain in the Rangers then, just turned 30, with a distinguished combat career. All those bitter years spent in hostile mountains and deserts overseas paid off when he and his rangers were first deployed to suppress militants in Montana. Those early missions were a success, and there were a lot of mass graves out there to attest to it. But the tensions escalated, and in 2003 the country sunk into the second civil war in it's history. The next decade was a bloodsplattered blur for the scarred sergeant. The Mormon Suppression, the Texian War and the slaughter of the California Communes were all badges on his standard. It was that final action, where he ordered and oversaw the liquidation of nearly a thousand people in the Berkeley Commune, that saw his combat career abruptly ended. Despite the newly-founded SAF's efforts to squash the story, foreign media picked it up nonetheless. America's Tienanmen Square became global headline news and accelerated the weakened country's decline into a pariah state. Samson was tried in secret as a scapegoat, stripped of his commission and consigned to a obscure conscript training depot. The whole experience left an already callous man even more embittered. He had been a career soldier, serving the forces since he left his New York slum home at 16. Now that career was in ruins, he was 40 and alcoholic, and he intended to take it out on every one of the conscripts they brought before him to train. With one minute exactly remaining he watched the battered old bus roll into the yard once again. His numerous scars already dragged his thin-lipped mouth into a frown, but it drew even harder as he watched the bus disgorge its human cargo. More nineteen-year-old trash from the class of 1994, he mused ruefully. Only about half made for good cannon fodder the rest either found a more degrading use or became fertilizer for the camp's ever-growing garden. Growling low, his hangover headache still pounding, he began marshaling them together into the nearby drill square. Suddenly Samson's slim eyebrows flew almost right up to his beret. The sight of Haley exiting the bus was something special even to his jaded palate. Normally the white trash were half-starved and sullen, practically dead before the rebels even got them. But this little bimbo was really something, with an barely-dressed nubile body and the pouting face of a blond beauty queen. He watched her floating about as if she were on a sightseeing trip, dazed by her combination of simple innocence and insouciant sluttiness. She reminded him of the numerous Berkeley co-ed girls he and his boys had violated during the massacre - well the pretty ones anyway. Swallowing hard as he studied her petite body, Samson resolved to fuck this government-issued slice of rapemeat as soon as possible. As far as he was concerned, sex was the only use for a female recruit. His nearly-pleasant reverie was broken by her arrogant but casual command. Already filled with a lustful hate for this hapless new girl, her utter entitlement caused him to lose it entirely. He whacked the phone from her head with the back of his hand, sending it flying off as Haley staggered back. Bellowing like an enraged bull, he screamed in her face Shut the fuck up, Barbie! Drop your bags there and go join the other losers now! HUT! HUT! He ran around behind her like a rabid bulldog, hounding her forward at double time into the square and abandoning her bags in the dust.