The New Recruit Processing and Acclimation Center is where applicants for the Dominion Armed Forces are given an entrance exam designed to gauge their reaction and adaptation to stressful situations. Following the test, a recruit is assigned to a specific squad or unit and given instruction on when and where to report for active duty.
- Pick him up.
- Keep on truckin'.
- The Dominion has outlawed hitchhiking and offers a substantial reward for reporting this transgression. Turn him in and collect the reward.
- Flick my cigar at his face as I rocket by at 90 mph.
- Try to ration the water as best we can.
- Real men only drink Scotty Bolger's anyway.
- Take a vote, light a fire, and sing some songs.
- The others won't need water. They "died in the accident." *wink*
- Pretend I love sonic toothbrushes.
- Remember... there's always re-gifting.
- Yell "I told you a gauss rifle, mom!" then run out of the room.
- Smash the toothbrush in front of her.
- Bacchus Moon can wait. I've got work to do.
- Bacchus Moon it is! The vespene gas will be there on Monday.
- Get 'er done as soon as possible and try to go to Bacchus Moon by Sunday.
- Bacchus Moon is a hub of illegal activity and vice... why would I go there?
You’re alone in the desert and you see a tortoise laying on its back, belly baking in the hot sun. It can’t flip over, not without your help, but you’re not helping. Why is that?[note 1]
- Is this a test?
- I like turtles!
- I want to see it squirm.
- What do you mean I’m not helping?!
You have been captured by the infamous terrorist Jim Raynor, and will now surely be tortured. What do you do?
- Try to appeal to his humanity.
- Tolerate anything for the Dominion. "Thank you sir, may I have another?"
- Beyond a certain pain threshold I'll just pass out.
- No pain, no gain! Besides, who said torture was a bad thing?!
The outlaw Jim Raynor robs a bank. As he makes his getaway, he drops a bag full of credits. You...
- Report the incident to the nearest Dominion officer.
- Return the credits to the bank.
- Credits? What credits? *wink*
- Donate it to Farm Aid.
- Find the nearest Dominion officer and report the incident.
- Pop open a can of whoop-ass!
- Flick a cigar at them and run.
- Join the bullying. Sometimes civilians need to be put in their place.
You see squatters setting up in a nearby abandoned supply depot. You...
- Report the incident. Squatting has been outlawed by the Dominion.
- Let them crash at my place.
- Vagrants are known disease carriers. Sneak in one night and vaccinate them while they're asleep.
- Ignore them and hope they go away.
- Purge the dirty hovel with cleansing fire.
You see a bird chirping loudly on a nearby ComSat station. What is the first word that comes to your mind?
In your home in the middle of the night, you're awoken by a man claiming to be a Dominion officer. He requests your help. What's the first question that comes to mind?
- Orders, sir?
- Is anyone hurt?
- Is this person really who he says he is?
- Whaddya want? Hint: It better be good.
- Ignore the officer and go back to sleep
You're relaxing in a cantina when a fight escalates next to you. How does this make you feel?
- Itchy! Violence gives me hives.
- Prepared. I brought my gauss rifle.
- Irritated. They're interrupting my "me" time. End the fight quickly and return to my seat.
- Afraid. I just wet myself.
A recruit can be sorted into the following classes:
Well, look who has an appetite for destruction… or self-destruction. We'd just as soon incarcerate your kind for recklessly endangering our way of life, but we trust your insatiable desire to incinerate living things will prove valuable on the battlefield after a bit of "resoc" on Korhal IV. Never heard of it? It's like a vacation for the mind. Report to the nearest barracks at 0600 tomorrow morning, as we want you to don the CMC-660 Heavy Combat Suit and go light up some bad guys. So long as you go where you're told, you'll have your chance to quench that carnal, destructive thirst of yours. Go wild. Show the enemy what happens when they denounce the emperor's authority. Your questionable ethics and lust for destruction make you the ideal candidate for the Dominion's firebats!
As you've guessed by now, this has all been a test. We know that you've always felt... different. When your mom told you that you were "special" for hearing voices in your head, she wasn't kidding. Our wranglers have identified you as an individual with tremendous psionic abilities. However, until you learn how to control these abilities, you pose a danger to yourself and everyone around you. Luckily, the Dominion has a place for "special" people like you -- the Ghost Academy. You are hereby recruited into this elite institute to train as one of the Dominion's elusive ghost operatives. Pack nothing for your journey. Where you're going, your past life is irrelevant.
Pack your bags, citizen! We are ready to save you from your bleak and irrelevant existence. You've proven that you have a tough-as-neosteel attitude, possess the guts to complete an assignment no matter the cost, and are about as smart as the creep I scraped off my boot this morning. A package from Augustgrad will be arriving shortly with your first set of stimpacks. Give 'em a try. But go easy, they've got a kick. We're shipping you off to the barracks for brain-panning at 0600 tomorrow morning. It's mostly harmless, and you will… well… we will prevail. Prepare for the infantry, maggot! You are hereby recruited to become a marine, the ballistic alloy shield of the emperor's expansive colonies!
Your compassion for your fellow citizen is truly touching. Fortunately for you, our great empire needs a few softies to brave the field of battle -- not for engaging in combat, but for tending to the wounded meatheads we’re expecting to protect our way of life. It turns out the medivacs are eating into our treasury anyway; and your loyalty to the empire and love for humanity prove to be valuable sources of energy for rescuing the cannon fodder we send into harm's way. Don't worry. You'll be perfectly safe. Trust us. We're shipping you off to the barracks at 0600 tomorrow morning. You are hereby recruited to serve in the Dominion's combat medic program!
Have you ever dreamt of exploring distant planets and then working overtime there for minimum wage? Well, your dreams have been answered, pardner! It just so happens that the Dominion has a use for your undying loyalty and pathetic fear of the battlefield frontlines. You're ordered to report to the command center on Mar Sara at 0600 tomorrow morning, as we're strapping you into one of our T-280 Space Construction Vehicles! The only exotic planets you'll be seeing are the ones we need to establish a stronghold on and wipe the enemy from. You'll serve your emperor well by becoming a glorified construction worker. You are hereby recruited as an SCV pilot to maintain the infrastructure of our military outposts, supply trains, and support buildings. Now go get 'em!
The Dominion military is always in search of brilliant individuals capable of formulating complex battle strategies. You are not one of these people. But if there's one thing we've learned over the years, it's that sometimes you just need someone who likes to smash things. From your test results, you're a perfect fit for this role. What better way to satisfy your borderline psychotic thirst for destruction than in the comfy pilot seat of one of the Dominion's most powerful weapons to date: the Thor! With this neosteel behemoth at your command, you'll be given free rein to obliterate as many of our enemies' air and ground forces as your uncaring little heart desires. Leave any notions of finesse behind you -- if you had any in the first place -- and report to the nearest recruitment center on Korhal IV immediately.
From your answers, it's clear that living life to its fullest has never been a problem for you. While you pride yourself on having survived over a dozen high-speed hoverbike crashes, the Dominion has taken note of the threat that your wild antics pose to the population at large. Fortunately, we've been looking for an adventurous individual just like you to pilot our newest anti-air and ground-support weapon system. We call it the viking, a modern marvel capable of reconfiguring between an air-superiority fighter and an assault walker. You are hereby summoned to the nearest starport to begin flight school. Make no mistake: only the most skilled pilots will ever master the viking. But if you do, fame and glory await!