"Yes, sir," Isam said, not yet relaxing his pose. He stood with his back straight, feet shoulder length apart, and hands clasped behind his back. The posture felt natural to him, like something he'd done his whole life. He had, for most of it, anyway. He watched with interest as the other recruits trickled in. A few stood out as military men, and a couple females seemed to be among their ranks. Back in Iraq, women were banned from the battlefield. But his time in America, working with the women on his old team, had taught him that they were just as capable as any male. He held no prejudice against them. 

Isam drew his eyes back in front of him as a man, burly in appearance, came to stand before him. Isam's brown eyes silently looked the man up and down. The man was a couple inches taller than himself, inked up with tattoos, and had an accent that he couldn't place. 

"Isam Hajjar," He said, his voice holding a strong but comprehensible accent. He spoke in a smoother, softer tone than the other man, Ulfr. Isam reached out to take the offered hand, clasping it between both of his own rather than shaking it. After a brief squeeze, he let go. "I look forward to working with you as well." He assumed that had been what the man meant; Isam didn't think shedding blood should be a pleasurable thing.