Life was a gallimaufry, a terrible jumble of wants and needs bucking against instinct and higher reasoning. Plots and devices laid by the wayside, it had to do with some of her own basic choices- having gone forward in spite of all warnings of basic training- the different tiers of Senshi, Super, Eternal, and Royal. Analog to their own ranks and offices, and the wisdom that went before to not over reach above one’s station.

There was no point to being gun shy, no payoff to her own experience, learning, growth and power. The Tiger on the bridge had been beyond her, it was simple as that. On the bridge, before, Schörl had actively chosen to goad and stay. She’d been given a chance to curl her tail and retreat. Taking that girl would require excogitation or more careful cozen with some of the IntOs or InfOs to open the chest and rehabilitate the seed in pandora’s box. Not less she have the patience and willingness to wait for her own growth to be equipollent. But waiting that long wasn’t efficacious compared to sooner solutions. They needed sooner solutions to all the senshi and to all the knights. Though it didn’t seem a great part of the general Negaverse plan. The ranks contempt of each other was rancid, leaving no love lost and little support outside of ordered missions from what she’d so far experienced. She’d been in the outfit months now. Months and not a glimmer of hope for a companion. She wanted companions- friends and allies that she could trust. That she could work missions with and devise coordinated, strategic strikes with. It was the advantage a military should have.

Carnelian was the first helpful face she’d found, or rather that had found her. An odd anomaly, the corrupted ones. That was a word that had to go. What a PR nightmare. Corruption, coming from the root of corrupt. It was an old french word, meaning unhealthy. Or a Latin word meaning to destroy or spoil. As a verb? Contaminate. Putrefy. These were not something anyone generally signed on for in the whole. Not unless there was something deliberately self-destructive about them. An organization that tried for a military feel wouldn’t benefit from suicides any more than they benefited from madmen or loose cannon unless to utilize as expendable shock fodder. It may or may not be worth approaching someone about. After all, she was only a Lieutenant, and therefore more or less two steps above dirt and one step below senshi. At least their enemies held the opinion of their superiors.

That was ungenerous. She hadn’t met all of them. No judgements until she had. Every name and every rank. Then when she seen them, known them, the task would be as it ever had been for her. What she was good at- glean the seeds from the chaff in these storehouses that had been stocked by hands before hers. Handfuls gained they plant and sow together, could work more seriously into perfect accord of muscle and motion, then work to ring the welkin until the vaults were empty and all the stars littered their floors.

So what of those she’d personally met? Painite, pink and crazy was her rumors in the mill and so far as she’d experience was probably true. The General had brought Stroud onto ‘her team’, but only in the broadest sense. If the woman had a personal cadre, she wasn’t privy to it. Wasn’t brought onto it. Mimistrobell was of the mirror court, so not likely to hold loyalty outside of her highschool crush on her princess. Bazzite? Certainly not. The boy had energy, an inexhaustible supply of it, but ultimately he was both too naive to trust with choosing the devil’s blood in his veins, or with innovating in tight spots on missions. He was all follower. Obsidian was a wild card, but not likely usable. Old enough to be unstable, probably wise enough in his madness to recognize and balk at ‘use’, and disinterested in companionship. Carnelian had been kind, helpful, concerned. She didn’t know how he was in active duty. Nor how he reacted to violence. Though not everyone on a team had to be on the field. It was good to have a medic at the home tent, or a support of some sort that would keep morale together if chemistry was right. One possibility in five was twenty percent. Ghastly odds. So she’d have to meet what...twenty others at least to have the statistical chance of four others? How many names had been in the basic training information rosters...something like 96? Probably safely rounded to a hundred in case she was forgetting any, or there were names missing in action or thought dead that weren’t. That would provide a base of twenty possibles that she could try to find if she literally met and evaluated each and every one. She was in SpecOps. They were supposed to seek for signs of discord or discontent. Seeking for the opposite, for promise as well, wasn’t a hard stretch or tack on.

She had work to do.