It was a very odd feeling to be called a NewType. Sure he'd held his own suspicions for some time how could someone survive extended battle without a particular gift? Romav had considered it more of a ruse than anything; a testament to his own luck that he might survive. Whatever had transpired recently had seemingly caused his small gift to blossom ever so slightly to give Jaryk who must have been a NewType as well to be able to recognize it within the pilot. He would describe the sensation as having a phantom in the cockpit with him gently gesturing to him where to look and working with his hands on the controls.<br/><br/>'Unfortunately he remains one of our more seasoned pilots.'<br/><br/>That remark almost brought a laugh from the older veteran. Perhaps it was the way of things. Those that had survived long enough under Zeon grew to know life under the heel of the Earth Federation and subsequently the Titans. So well-conditioned were the remains of Zeon that they merely accepted what little crumbs they had been tossed like a dog on the floor begging at the dinner table. Now, apparently, the only pilots left alive capable of holding the burning fire of Zeon were the green pilots that had grown under that heel and who's souls burned to be free, who read about or heard the tales of the legendary warriors of Zeon striving against the tide.<br/><br/>The captain continued talking and brought Romav with him. The walk had lasted some time and the Lieutenant hadn't realized where the walk had taken him. It was as though he'd fallen asleep or drifted off, much of the words spoken seemed to be nothing more than mumblings to the pilot. He heard bits and pieces, scraps of vocal inflection that seemed to be distant yelling. It wasn't until a colossal door hissed in protest and slowly creaked open revealing a small collective of workings buzzing about and immediately a wave of pulsing washed over him. It snapped him from the mental lull and it slowly dawned on him what was going on. Well more precisely it dawned on him when his mind registered the screaming and the pulsing in his head that accompanied it.<br/><br/>The lone occupied capsule in the room and it's several attendants revealed Tyrius Garrou locked within its confines. The screams were horrifying not because of the pain that was being inflicted on the young man but of the psycho waves that rippled out from him with every scream. It left Romav's hair on end and with each scream and it punctuated the fervor with which the Captain thundered forth pumped full with the fire of Zeon and revenge. An aura like pressure seemed to push out from Jaryk now and what little question he had about the NewType capacity of their captain was erased and replaced with an assuredness. There was a seductive quality there and a faint glaze returned to Romav's being as the Captain thundered away leaving Romav only to nod weakly.<br/><br/>"Yes Captain. . ."<br/><br/>The words didn't even feel like his own, they were spoken in a flat monotone with little inflection that was common with the pilot who spoke with a fire about battle and war. He was borderline entranced by the Captain's rhetoric and as the pilot left the chamber with the captain he couldn't help but feel the pain and anger still rippling out from the chamber but the psychic waters were infinitely calmer here somewhat insulated from Garrou's screams. He felt inside that what was going on in there was the opposite of what Zeon stood for. Zeon was freedom and glory, this was lab experiments and torture. Were the two sides so similar? He wanted to protest but for whatever reason felt aligned with Arlen. The Captain's aura was intoxicating.<br/><br/>"I don't agree with what you're doing, Arlen. However our hand is forced and we must do what must be done to free our brothers and sisters in space still clasped in bondage. I will be your hand. I will follow you into the brink."