At the end of the elevator's descent, Carrie's hopes were dashed as quickly as they had been bred. As they were toured through, likely to their living quarters, it became quickly and blatantly clear that the facility was largely incomplete, probably built for some other short-lived purpose and abandoned. And now it was the headquarters of UNXIPU, which Carrie's opinion of was quickly swaying back towards that of a joke. Through room after room of dysfunctional machinery and electronics her and the rest of the group followed the Malaysian's instructions, letting the signs guide them.

Her first sight, through a viewing window in the computer graveyard marked "Mission Control" was that of the hanger, partially filled with familiar Osprey VTOLs, and an aircraft the likes of which she'd never seen sitting on a pad of its own. Whatever it was, it was clearly advanced, and she hoped that if they ever actually had a mission, she'd ride in it instead of the MV-22C Ospreys, which she found perilously uncomfortable and noisy. Ushered down a dusty hallway, the group neared the barracks.

It was in better shape than the rest of the unfinished facility, but it wasn't hard to tell that facets were missing here and there. Swept away, small rocks and dust from excavation efforts lined the walls, which themselves sported exposed lengths of thick, multi-colored wires. The small staff of cooks and attendants present looked just as bored and disgruntled as the security staff outside the warehouse. At least the "Mess Hall", as denoted by a sign, didn't look half bad, Carrie noted, passing the double-doors that led to a room filled with tables and serving lines. The steel bulkhead walls were missing here and there, revealing rock, and the fact that this place wasn't even completely excavated yet. Nearing her squad's quarters, she maintained her position near the rear of the group as they passed the admittedly imposing armory, never mind the miserable look on the fatigued men guarding the vault from behind sheets of thick, bulletproof glass. She wondered if her machine gun was already stored in there, or if it would arrive in a later shipment of equipment, not that it mattered, that place was locked down tighter than Fort fuckin' Knox.

Finally arriving at their little slice of the labyrinth, she sighed at the bay, quickly laying claim to a top-bunk in one of the corners of the room and looking for a place on the ceiling from which she could hang a poncho or blanket to afford herself more privacy. Climbing up onto her bed with the knowledge that she'd likely have a minute or two at most before the group would be called for a brief, she placed her earbuds back in, keying up the Rolling Stones' classic Wild Horses as she watched the rest of the group settle in.