The intake process lasted around an hour. They took his name, his date of birth, and his measurements, and then Manny “helped” Aaron answer those same questions.

It would’ve been triflingly easy for anyone with a deck and a good connection to find evidence of Manny’s career as a warzone fixer. But the Martyr handling their information wrote things down on actual paper. Manny got the distinct impression that many of the Martyrs had disabled their decks. He also knew from experience that data speeds tended to be pretty shit this close to the fighting.

Someone will check eventually, he warned himself. You’d better be fast about this whole business.

Roland stayed on his best behavior through the whole process, although he grew twitchier and twitchier as the minutes wore on. Manny wasn’t sure if the chromed man was allergic to bureaucracy or just frustrated at having sobered up. Once they were done with the first stage of the intake process, they were ushered over to a room filled with folded stacks of clothing and dense with the scent of mothballs. They were issued uniforms and then bundled off to a locker room to change.

Manny was somewhat nervous about stripping down and changing in front of Roland, a dude he barely knew. If the post-human felt the same nervousness, he didn’t show it. Roland pulled off his clothes in a couple of seconds, revealing a body that was tight with wiry muscle and covered in thick surgical scars. Roland started to pull on his BDU pants and noticed Manny hadn’t yet started to strip.

“What’s up?” Roland asked. “You smell nervous.”

Manny shrugged. “I guess I’m a little prude still. Must be the Catholic in me.”

“Don’t let them hear that,” Roland laughed, “these fuckers’ll hang you with your rosary beads.”

He pulled the pants up and buttoned them. Then he paused again and looked back to Manny.

“Are you still Catholic?” he asked.

Manny shook his head. “No, I don’t believe. But my family does.”

“Ah,” Roland nodded. “You fake belief well. That’s a talent.”

“It’s not a talent,” Manny said, “it’s a survival skill. Grow up in Texas, and you either learn to fake what you need to fake, or you learn to fight.”

Someone knocked on the door.

“Are you ready yet?” a voice called out to them.

“Almost!” Manny responded, and he started to strip his clothing off.