C90 Loyalty And Debauchery

"Finally!"

Darius roared with a grin, slapping Paul on the back.

"I thought we'd never get to the getting wasted part I hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol for weeks!"

Julian smirked, shaking his head at the uproar.

"Well, you can't say Drac doesn't know how to reward hard work."

As the cheers continued, I stood back, arms crossed, watching the recruits celebrate. They had earned this moment, every single one of them.

It wasn't just about the grueling training or the rituals they'd gone through.

It was about becoming part of something bigger than themselves, something forged in the fires of loyalty, blood, and brotherhood.

This was the Iron Fenrirs, and tonight, we would celebrate like only we knew how.

...

The bar onboard the Invictus was packed to the brim, its metallic walls barely able to contain the chaos inside.

The loud, thumping bass of the music blared through the speakers, vibrating through the floors as a dead-drunk DJ, shirtless and holding a half-empty bottle of vodka exposing his muscles for all to see, stumbled over his equipment.

He was barely managing to keep the beats going, but no one cared. The energy in the room was electric.

Recruits, both female and male, were everywhere, grinding against each other like it was the last night of their lives.

Uniforms were half-worn, shirts untucked, ties missing, and a whole lot of exposed skin glistened under the flashing lights.

The massive bar that was packed to the brim barely being able to accommodate the 10 k recruits had turned into a pulsating sea of bodies, each one lost in the moment, free from the brutal reality of training for just one night. 

At least more than half of the female crew were definitely getting knocked up tonight.

I thought as I sat with my battle brothers at our table, watching the madness unfold, making a mental note to myself to either issue birth control pills to all the females and make them swallow It or prepare for the baby boom.

Paul, already halfway through a bottle of some potent liquor, was laughing uncontrollably at the sight of two recruits failing miserably to synchronize their moves on the makeshift dance floor.

"Look at 'em go,"

Paul slurred, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"If this is their version of coordination, we're doomed!"

Darius, grinning from ear to ear, raised his bottle and clinked it against Paul's.

"To being doomed, then!"

He shouted before taking a long swig.

Julian shook his head, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed smirk on his face.

"You know, I thought these younglings of ours were hopeless, but maybe they've got something after all. They sure know how to let loose."

I leaned forward in my chair, one of my hands bringing my cigar to my lips the other arm lazily drooped over my chair, a grin tugging at the corners of my lips as I watched the scene unfold.

It wasn't just recruits blowing off steam. It was a transformation, these men and women had gone through hell, and now they were bonding in the only way soldiers knew how. 

I scanned the room, my eyes catching on the sheer amount of grinding, kissing, and the overall reckless abandon that filled the air.

Yeah, they're definitely f*cking tonight...

I thought as I downed the rest of my drink and glanced around the table.

My service cap was tossed carelessly onto the table, along with the rest of the caps and layers of clothing from my battle brothers.

The table itself was a battlefield of its own, covered in bottles of alcohol, snacks, and overflowing ashtrays.

Our trench coats were strewn over the chairs, ties tossed aside, and jackets left open.

Only our black long-sleeved shirts, with collars unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up, remained, with some of us even down to the white short-sleeved T-shirts underneath.

"Who knew,"

Airid muttered, sipping his drink with a lazy grin.

"That after all that training, all these schmucks needed was a little alcohol to finally show some real energy?"

I laughed, leaning back in my chair as I grabbed another bottle from the table.

"Alcohol's a great motivator,"

I said with a smirk.

"But let's just hope they still have some fight left in them when the hangover wears off."

Paul raised his bottle, already starting to sway a bit.

"To hangovers!"

He shouted, his voice booming over the noise.

"And to the Iron Fenrirs, the only damn Merc outfit that knows how to party like this!"

The rest of us raised our drinks, clinking them together in a messy, loud toast.

"To the Iron Fenrirs!"

We echoed, downing our drinks.

The music grew louder, the lights flashing in rhythm with the bass.

I watched as a group of female recruits, long sleeved T-shirts tied up exposing their flat stomachs and pants very dangerously clinging to their curves, danced wildly in the middle of the floor, their faces flushed from the alcohol.

They were grinding against the male recruits, who had lost half their service uniforms in the process.

"There's going to be some 'fun' consequences from this night,"

Julian muttered, his sharp eyes scanning the chaos.

"Better issue some pills, Drac, or you'll be running a daycare."

I let out a chuckle, rubbing my forehead.

"I don't know about that, we might as well raise new blood ourselves, think about It new members raised from the ground up In the company of their battle brothers and sisters aren't these the best recruits In existence?"

Airid was already working on his next drink, tilting his head with a thoughtful smile.

"Hmmm, raising our own recruits that's pure diabolical you know that right Drac?"

I chuckled at Airid's comment, taking another drag from my cigar as I leaned back into my chair, letting the haze of smoke cloud my view of the chaos on the dance floor.

The recruits were lost in the moment, grinding against each other, laughing, kissing, hell, even a few were probably sneaking off to the corners for more than just dancing.

Paul was still laughing at the sight of two recruits falling over each other in their drunken stupor, his eyes half-lidded as he slouched in his chair. 

"Thats my style though..."

I mused, swirling the liquor in my glass. 

"We'd have to start a whole new division. Iron Fenrir Junior Corps,"

Julian quipped dryly, lighting up another cigar. 

Darius, ever the opportunist, leaned in with a smirk.

"Junior Corps? Nah, they'd be prepped for combat straight out of the womb. Think of it, no outside conditioning. No need to unlearn bad habits. They'd be loyal, ruthless, and efficient just like Spartans In ancient Sparta" 

"Like a bunch of little fenrir cubs,"

Paul said, still grinning like a madman.

"Except they'd be our Fenrirs, trained from the get-go. No loyalty issues, no hesitation."

"Or,"

Airid interjected, taking a long sip from his bottle.

"We could avoid all that and just invest in birth control. You know, to avoid the complications of running a daycare on a warship."

He smirked, clearly amused by the absurdity of the conversation.

I shook my head, laughing softly.

"Still, you have to admit. There's a certain appeal to raising our own force from scratch. No outsiders, no surprises. Just pure loyalty."

Paul raised his bottle again.

"To the next generation of Iron Fenrirs then whether they're born or recruited, they'll be ready for anything."

We clinked glasses, the thought lingering in the back of my mind.

It was a wild idea, sure. But in our line of work, wild ideas sometimes paid off.

As I looked out over the chaotic bar scene, I couldn't help but think about the future of the Iron Fenrirs.

These recruits, drunk and half out of their minds, were just the beginning.

We had something real here, something no one else in the galaxy had, a brotherhood that was growing stronger with each ounce of sweat, tear and blood spilled.