Grant watched from the window of the groundcar as the city went by, he had spent another day in the Geofront and was only being taken to his new accommodations now that night had fallen. The city looked strange, the architecture was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Glass, steel, and rockcrete lit up with cool white light. It was so unlike the warm glow of lumens, cast iron, and worked stone he was used to, or the practical industrial sprawl of the forges. No golden aquilas shone over the doors of Ecclesiarchy cathedrals or Administratum offices, and no Cog Mechanicum icons wept condensation.

Few were out on a working night, there were few signs of life other than those on the streets. The car stopped, and the driver stepped out and opened the back doors. Grant climbed down and found himself standing before a rockcrete hab block about a dozen stories tall. The Major stepped out of the other side, handing Grant a keycard and an envelope.

"The keycard is for your apartment, the envelope has the rest of your or- well, recommendations and documentation." she said, correcting herself halfway through the word 'orders'.

"Thank you, Major," said Grant, inclining his head respectfully, "Emperor grant you rest."

"Uh, thanks? There's some spare clothing and food stocked for you based on what you told us earlier today. Have a good night."

With that, she turned back to the groundcar and climbed inside. Grant headed up the stairs to the building.

He reached his apartment, and unlocking the door, he entered. The unit was small but functional, a living and cooking area connected to a decent but sparse bedroom. He sat at the table, opening the envelope. Inside was a stack of documents, one of which was a NERV ID card with his picture on it. It had his name and a clearance level printed on it, as well as his designation.

Princeps.

"I guess the organization extends more respect than its pilots," mused Grant, tucking the card away.

The rest of the envelope contained a personal communicator, a regional currency card, sealed emergency orders, and directions to a schola not too far away along with the requisite information for his presence there. Presumably, this is the one the pilots were attending.

Why they weren't spending the majority of their days training as he had was beyond him. Sure the classroom had its place for histories, doctrine, and lessons in inter-formation etiquette, but he'd always preferred the Skitarii sparring halls, sim wards, and the survival training out in the deserts of the Astrobleme. No matter, at least he'd get a chance to speak with the others.

Grant set the rest of the papers aside and took a look through the supplies he'd been given. Clothing similar to what he'd seen Pilot Ikari wearing, though selected by Grant personally during his time in the Geofront, refrigerated and packaged foodstuffs that were somewhat recognizable if foreign to Grant's sensibilities, and some basic toiletries.

Satisfied with the accommodations, he completed his ablutions as best he could and settled in for the night. He hung his twinned Aquila and Cog Mechanicum pendants in his hand before setting down on one knee beside the bed.

"Master of all mankind, we praise thee.

For thy great works, we ask thee for a blessing.

In these dark times, we pray thou mayest defend us.

Our works, our souls, our homes.

The Emperor protects."

Grant slept well enough, though the dreams were restless. The smell of rotting artificial amniotic fluid and counterseptic was still fresh in his mind as he woke. He took a moment to center himself in the darkness of the room, trying to breathe evenly with the memory of his last weeks as an aspirant brought to the fore. His eyes adjusted to the gloom as he stood, he stretched, yawning. He checked the clock on the wall and silenced the alarm before it could go off, he was up now and there was no point in trying to sleep again.

He rose, taking his pendants into his hand to mutter another prayer before moving to prepare himself for the day ahead. He elected to take a shower before eating a simple breakfast of bread and eggs, though he didn't know what kind of avian had laid them they still tasted alright even with his lackluster cooking skills. After finishing his meal, Grant made use of the facilities to clean up a bit. He shaved, brushed his teeth, and dressed in the semi-uniform civilian clothes he'd been provided by NERV based on his recommendations.

The door to his apartment stood open, and Grant checked to make sure he had everything he needed. Parchment, pens, emergency orders, currency, and ident chips.

A hellpistol, a spare charge clip.

He could never be too safe, could he?

Grant slipped the pistol into the bottom of his bag under some other clutter, accessible but hidden. NERV's pilots hadn't carried sidearms, so it probably wasn't a good idea to do so openly.

Grant exited his apartment, locking it behind him. It was a short walk from the apartments to a transit groundcar terminal where he would be able to catch a local shuttle to another terminal near his destination. As he waited, bag slung over his shoulder, he was aware of the stares he drew. It wasn't simply his foreign appearance, but also the metal MIU socket sitting at the base of his skull. Most people were polite enough to look away when they saw it, but a few stared in confusion.

The stares bothered him, but he couldn't let it show. Not here at least.

Eventually, a shuttle arrived, its doors sliding open as soon as it came to a stop. Grant climbed aboard with only a slight delay, the passengers filing in after him with only the occasional glance towards the MIU port drilled into his head.

The ride was short, only a short time passed until he arrived at the stop indicated in the information the Major had given him. He stepped off and walked the block to the schola, observing his surroundings and trying to orient himself. People talked on communicators as they walked or stepped into storefronts, but the hum of people and groundcars wasn't broken by a single street preacher, a single prayer, or a single public address broadcast from vox hailers.

The schola's entryway was nondescript but framed by a metal sliding gate that seemed more decorative than functional. A multi-floored concrete building with glass windows looking out over the city around it towards the countryside. Grant walked through the doors, pausing to check the small map he'd been given before making his way to the correct classroom.

He was early, only half the class had arrived so far. The room itself was simple, with rows of desks and a board for the instructor. A teacher sat on a chair, reading from a nondescript terminal, but he seemed focused on whatever it said rather than watching for students arriving. Grant found himself staring out of one of the windows, looking down onto the city when a pair of boys approached him.