Interloper-360°: Expanded Version

Extra Content: Young Hot Head

He was just a kid, but he was a spitfire. I picked him up one day at a roulette event about a lightyear away from Central. All the groups were there looking for more recruits, fresh recruits, powerful guns who haven't had the chance to be lazy. You'll see the middle-aged man or woman coming in with some scars and stoicism, and that's the prime rib of the litter.

Then I laid eyes on this baby-faced, skinny, perfect hair,  black painted nails of a boy standing on the sidelines watching everyone getting partnered up except him. In my years of running a mercenary group, I have never seen someone so young lining up for some dangerous and desperate work.

I watched him a little. I snagged a seat at a table, drank some beers, smoked cigarettes, and witnessed everyone passing him by. He would jump in front of some and start sputtering out his credentials, but mercs never cared about what you look like on paper. No years, no scars, not a threatening thing about him. There's no telling how he'd handle missions in such pristine packaging.

Inevitably, no one was interested in signing a kid on for some serious work. He busted his chances harder when he showed off how impatient he was by shouting at groups that didn't pick him. I was genuinely surprised that nobody attacked the poor kid out of anger. He went on disrespecting people and wallowed in self-pity for about five minutes, then he went back to yelling at folks.

Maybe it was the beer, but this kid had me amused quite well. It was like watching a cartoon. I was on my last cigarette when I decided to approach him myself. I was expecting the same treatment of him getting in my way and giving me a sales pitch of his skills, but that didn't happen. I had to stop myself and stand in front of him, he was messing with his P.V.D. and ignoring the world around him. When he finally paid attention to me, he gave me a face so soaked with attitude, you'd think I'd just grounded him. I just smiled and stared.

"What are you looking at?" he asked. His poor luck wouldn't even let him have a deep voice. It was high, and his dialect was flamboyant.

"I'm not sure. Care to tell me?" I asked.

"The highest-rated pilot in the Paxes Defense Force academy."

"And yet, you're not with Paxes."

"Things have changed. You want me or not?"

He put his hands on his hips and leaned on one leg. His short stature forced him to lift his chin to address me. I've never seen a more adorable killer in my life. I just had to learn more about this kid.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Old enough."

"What's your name?"

"Nev."

"Pretty."

"What did you say?"

"Pretty like your hair and nail polish. I'm Titan." I gave him my hand to shake, but his pouting lips and quick downcast glance were all I needed to see to know he wasn't going to shake it.

"Are you coming on to me?"

"Nev, I'm old enough to be your father. Even if I did swing that way, I can never keep up with the young ones."

I could see his eyes softening. I'm not sure if he's embarrassed or nervous. "W-what are you trying to pull? Will you hire me as a merc or not, Mr. Titan?"

I lost my smile. "Why should I?"

"I'm a damn good pilot, sir. I'm just as capable on the ground. I've had official training from the academy in both aircraft and ground combat."

"Oooh, fancy. You sound like a purebred dog with a pedigree. You must be getting a lot of offers to get you started."

"Oh yeah, tons," he lied, "but feel free to name your numbers. I'm still trying to decide."