You have finally passed the entrance exam. Not with glory, but with that dirty tenacity that belongs to survivors — and that's the only thing that matters to Revachol. Now you are there, in front of the old RCM building. Its gray walls stand like a monument to uncertain order, amidst post-revolutionary debris and the eternal stench of the Pale seeping through the drafts of the city.

Every step you take towards the entrance weighs like a question. But you're decided. There is something in you that can no longer go back. The door opens.

ESPIRT DE CORPS :

After so many sacrifices, here you are. In front of the great decaying machine. La Revachol Citizens Militia. Not perfect. Not fair. But real. Let's see what rank they assign you to... and how long you can carry the weight of it.

The corridor smells of damp paper, burnt coffee and accumulated tension. Yet, you feel... part of something. Even if you still don't fully understand its contours. You walk towards the Capitain's office. Your shoes beat softly on the worn linoleum. The door is closed. Behind, the future awaits you. Or at least... something that resembles us.