Dropout

School had never appealed to Havoc. Not really. He was not an academic sort of person, finding little of interest inside books. If he had to read, he read maintenance manuals and things full of information relevant to his life. His decision to become a part of Starlight Academy had everything to do with learning to control his powers, and nothing to do with his chosen major. So when it came out--via a politely worded letter--that he would not be able to return to the United States military, Havoc almost dropped out right then and there.

There was no longer any hurry, but there was no longer any stability either. Havoc had a sizeable chunk of cash saved up from his time in the military, but he wasn't delusional enough to believe it would be enough to give him a comfortable civilian life. It would pay for an apartment for a year or so, but what then?

What jobs were there even?

Havoc had a few ideas--Scout being at the very top--but was still dwelling on the idea when he let himself into the apartment, finding Nix going about his business as usual.

"What jobs would suit me?" Havoc asked, without any sort of hello or introduction. He always got right to the point, and after a few months sharing a room, he assumed Nix was used to it.

Self defense teacher? Fitness instructor? Drill Sergeant? All of those things amounted to the same thing: Teaching people to fight and to defend themselves. But the problem was that all of them involved teaching, and Havoc made a rare frown, a conscious choice to show his dislike.

"I don't want to teach," Havoc said simply. "So those are all out."

Some might have played coy and tried to pretend there was something else going on, but Havoc was nothing if not up front, and he wasted no time explaining the situation.

"I was released from service with the army. I no longer have a profession, and am now considered a free agent. That would mean choosing a profession, and Manta Carlos doesn't have any army I could join."

Which was terribly unfortunate. An army of supernaturals with various gifts would devestate the battlefield, even with modern technology taken into account.

"If I had taken the time to think things through, I would have realized that the military would be discharging me before long. Having a unit of supernatural soldiers sounds promising, but it would risk violating the veil, so they wouldn't do it. There's no way for me to return and for them to ensure my powers are kept under control and the secret is kept, so an honorable discharge is all they can give me."

He had known it was coming, more or less. He had known he wouldn't return to the military. But he'd let himself believe he would anyway, because he hadn't wanted to think about what would come next. He'd never had any plans or ambitions outside the military, and with those all gone...

"Manta Carlos doesn't have a military," Havoc said simply. "What would the closest equivilent be?" The police?

Yes, his discharge was honorable. Not that it mattered, because his discharge status with the United States of America was going to have almost no effect on civilian employment on Manta Carlos.

Without giving it any real though, Havoc dragged his fingers through the top of his hair. Shaggy - the top was shaggy, even if he kept the sides and back buzzed, and despite Nix's obvious distaste for it, Havoc actually liked it that way. He liked the military. He liked the danger. But most of all he liked the feeling of fulfillment, of things being clear and neat and orderly. In the military he knew when he'd done a good job, and he knew when he'd done a bad job. People were quick and clear with him. People gave performance reviews. In the real world he had none of those things, and it made it that much harder to figure out what he was supposed to be doing.

"Mm," Havoc said, making a small grunt and considering it. The police were an option - the best option so far - but not quite what he wanted. There was too much paperwork. There were too many rules and regulations, and being a member of the police seemed so much more social then being a member of the military.

"Could you imagine me responding to a house call for a domestic dispute? Or talking down a suicidal person?"

While it no doubt sounded rhetorical, Havoc meant it. It was a legitimate question, trying to get a feel for how Nix thought of him.

Havoc wasn't really the sort of person who needed cheering up. Even when depressed or upset, his baseline for emotions was relatively normal. He simply wasn't as upset as he might have been otherwise. Someone else might have been devestated, and Havoc? Havoc didn't really mind.

He probably minded less than Nix, truth be told.

"It would be ideal if I could find a specific sub-profession which would allow me to utilize my skills, but also let me specialize enough that I wouldn't have to handle things like that. Something similar to a SWAT team, which deals only in specialized cases."

The issue with that was that SWAT usually required years of training with the police.

Havoc considered this for a moment before redirecting.

"Were you selected by the scouts?"