Deven Nehir

*Makes Kahn Face* AAAAALLLLEEERRRRRGIIIIEEEESSS!!!!!!

(( The Dungeon, Starbase 118)) :: Doven had been through months of gruel and grime in order to get to this point. The point of commissioned no return. His fellows from Marine training laughed at him when he made the decision to go from grunt to glamour, but he somehow found himself not caring that much. At least while he was drinking his Romulan ale. He sat in one of the corner tables in a little whole in the wall bar located in the Starbase's Dungeon, a place that seemed to be a concentrated realm of eccentrics and locals. A place where people could just be, themselves, or at least their suppressed selves that are usually hidden away. He sipped slowly, thinking of all that he had accomplished in just two years. Here was this farm boy, born and raised to heard cattle and Ma'rhan's around the farm, to sell them in order to keep his home; he would now be spending his days in space, the polar opposite of home. But nonetheless, he hoped to find a home out here as well. :: Marine training was harder than he expected, but then again, he didn't really have much to go on. The constant PT, the yelling and screaming of CO's. It broke him in. Made him focus. Made him, more aware of things around him. The weapons training by far was the most intense thing he'd ever done. But one thing was for sure, he could break down, reassemble, and waste a clip from any Mark III product out there, in short order too. He thought that was going to be the end of his training, till he was approached about intelligence. Apparently throughout his training, his marks had earned him the attention of some of the brightest minds to cultivate the vast web of what is now Starfleet Intelligence, and they wanted to give him a shot. He relished the opportunity; in a haste to satisfy this newfound hunger for adventure and non-farm activity. It would be a crapps shoot though as to where he would be stationed, and what he would be doing. The camaraderie from Boot seemed to push him more towards leading guys out into the thick of it in a combat zone, but then again, the cool calm aspect of intel gathering seemed just as appealing. For now, he sat quietly, waiting and drinking... :: Overhead: All Cadets bound for Cruise 131, please report to Dock 2... :: He let out a short sigh, finished his mug, and set it on the counter... He put the knife back in is boot, the one he'd been carving his name into the table with. He left his mark on the Starbase, and subconsciously hoped his legacy would turn out to be more than a few crude words carved into a Dungeon table. His life was starting... Right this second. :: ------ Cadet Doven Childyrn Intel/Marine Hopeful Unassigned