Other than the bare station walls, grey-blue metal and plastics of the most minimal construction, there is little else to define the living space. On one wall rests a flat holoscreen, just forty-three centimeters in size. Close beside is a tall, double-doored tool cabinet serving as an armoire and armory. A cot large enough for one body and lacking a headrest is tucked beside a simple yard-wide desk bearing papers, a perpetually full ash tray, empty boxes of cigarettes, a personal computer, and a stun knife. On the floor beside it sit two silver bowls, tarnished with use.
There are no personal effects outside of clothing and weapons to be seen.
The pilot himself is on the other side of the room, dressed in his uniform pants and undershirt, tossing a black rubber ball against the metal wall, producing soft clinks as he repeatedly catches and returns the item. Though the distance is decent, the motions are effortless. The camera focuses its lens on him, though he is at an awkward angle that cuts off the view of his head. His voice, however, is clearer than before.
"I've been promoted to head of internal security," he states flatly. "I am surprised my employer entrusted me with the position, considering my brief time in the corporation. But it provides me the opportunity to ensure both the company's safety, and my own. The last thing I need is to lose my only job opportunity and start starving again."
A quiet jingling is heard as Voodoo plods across the floor, his tongue hanging from his mouth and clumsy panting escaping therefrom, his tags swinging beneath his jaws as he scampers to his food bowl, ravenously devouring the contents. When he's thoroughly sated he hops up onto Senn's bed, laying on his side for a nap.
"I'm saving a handful of ISK to better prepare myself for the position. I'm uncertain if I'll be expected to provide personal security as well. I am willing and able, should that be the case. But I could use a better firearm if that's the case, and my knife is in desperate need of a battery... and, knowing the people we'll be dealing with, some armor wouldn't be a bad idea."
He pauses in the game of catch he's been playing, moving close to the wall and starting anew - this time, however, he doesn't let the ball touch the ground, simply dribbling it against the flat surface with his fingertips in quick succession.
"Furthermore, I've rethought my pursuits in the field. We seem to run across more than our share of cruisers, battlecruisers, even battleships at times. We don't have the strength to fight with brute force. But subtlety and shock make better weapons than clubs... I ran further simulations using the stealth bomber bases. I was pleased with the damage readings. But just as last time, I ran into physical complications; trying to target at optimal range meant I was now putting all my visual focus into high-resolution feed at seventy kilometers. I nearly caused another overflow of information feed."
After a few minutes of his idly game he gives the ball a strong throw, making it bound around the room. As it comes up from behind him he throws his hand behind his back,catching the sphere just as easily as with his earlier practice.
"The good news is that the medics said the operation was successful. The nerve bundle and tissue were ideal for the procedure. I suppose I should thank AnimaSys for doing such a fine job of genetic screening. My sight is up to six-three. The digital feed is flawless and the miniaturized motion sensor array increases my all-around acuity of perception. Updatable, too, I'd be surprised if it didn't come into play with this security job, too."
He pauses to look down at the orb in his hand, giving it a gentle toss towards the hound on his bed, who eagerly slides off the cot to toy with it himself. Senn walks towards the camera drone, passing his hands over his face in a calming habit, slicking his hair back in the process. As he picks up his head and the camera drone's field of vision captures him fully, his face is visible for just an instant as he reaches up to shut off the feed. Where grey-blue eyes sat in his sockets, two gunmetal caps have now been seamlessly fused into his bone structure, no more protruding or thick than a pair of snow goggles. Only a pencil-thin sliver lens and panel grooves break the smooth matte surface of the metal.
"Signing off."
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