Craig woke up. He stared the ceiling of the room he had slept in it was painted a bright orangey colour a dire contrast to the dirt and dark rotten wood of the trenches he had been sleeping in just a few days previous. He got off the bed and got dressed before surveying his room. Men were fighting and dying on the front lines while they sat and made plans in some cushy villa in the north of Spain. He picked up his submachine gun and slung it over his shoulder before holstering his pistol on his leg. He picked up his rounded helmet, but rather than putting it on just carried it to his destination. 

He made his way out of his room and into the corridor opposite it. He had a small wander about the villa, it was rather quiet for now par a few of the 'metahumans' that were making their way into the room they had been summoned to the night previous. He really couldn't be bothered discussing plans or whatnot, he was just your average follow orders soldier, which is probably why he was placed in the trenches, other than the fact that he was black too. He wondered how the metahumans would react to seeing a black man among them, even at the trenches he wasn't welcome for the first few weeks or so. 

He finally made his way into the small room filled with the other metahumans. He stood amongst strangers, ready to receive orders from some bloke he knew nothing about.