Swept forward into the grand storage closet by the crowd, Jon came to realize that this operation was anything but amateur; the interior of the hangar bespoke professionalism unseen on the dreary landing strip outside, and hinted at an even bigger surprise waiting for the lot of them downstairs.

"Lovely," Bishop responded when the checkpoint guard asked him how he was doing.

"What?" he huffed, terse as ever. Jon spun about to face him once more, having been distracted by himself, casing the room with increasing fervor. Flashing the man a toothy smile, he nodded, "I'm just superb! Yourself?"

"I asked to see your transfer documents," he breathed between gritted teeth.

"Transfer documents! Of course!" the Captain declared, raising his index finger. "I've got those! Haven't I? Have I got those? No, I haven't! Ah, wait, of course, yes." He frowned. "No. Sorry. Not at all." Abruptly, he yanked a lengthwise-folded sheaf of neatly stapled papers out of the great pocket in his pea coat. "Here you are, my good man!"

The papers were rather straightforward; plenty of by her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II's royal decrees and with the authorization of the Prime Ministers, so on and so forth - all culminating in a general he's your bloody problem now, morons, air.

"Squad Echo. Move along," the angry man declared, stamping Bishop's papers.

"And you as well!" the Captain assured, quickly moving towards the rapidly forming echo squadron.

"Hello, hello, my fellow squad mates! Aren't you all just a sight," he said, rounding on the group with a broad smile. Lacing an arm about Shaozu's shoulder, he said - with absurd amicability - "I know you despise us, love, but do bear in mind that your own nation has had its day in the sun as an empire on more than one occasion - and that one of the greatest civilizations on earth spent quite a few centuries as one itself. Imperialism isn't the problem; people are, my dear boy, and I suggest you let go of your multi-national grudge because it looks like we might just all be on the same side, for the time being!"

Forward was a state of being for the Captain.

"Chuffed to bits to meet you all! I'm Jonathan Bishop, you can call me Captain, though I can't guarantee that there's any legal precedence behind it these days! What about the rest of you lot? Mostly Americans it seems, well done, fair play, no harm there though it wouldn't hurt to see another Englishman about - or, no, perhaps a lovely English lass. Don't suppose any of you brought one with you, 'eh? No? Very well! Names? Anybody got a name?"

He walked up and took his papers. He read them and sighed. He began going down the hall towards his post. He had been assigned to Echo. He didn't exactly care if they assigned him to be a solo operative. He had been chosen to do that several times before. To him it didn't matter. But he would most likely be stuck with all these people. He just hoped they could handle themselves in a firefight. He was sick of pulling peoples assses out of the fire. He walked to where he needed to and awaited instructions.

Deserts.

Maria HATED deserts.

Oh, it wasn't the heat. Maria could easily deal with heat, though of course she preferred to be in an air conditioned environment. It wasn't the sand, either. Sand was irritating, but Maria could live with it, as it was only a minor inconvenience until she could get to the nearest shower. But deserts...
Deserts were empty. And Maria absolutely despised that. Nothing but dunes, as far as the eye could see. Mexico City may have been hot, but that heat wasn't just the sun, it was HUMAN heat. Things were lively, people were out, they were talking, they were doing something, existing! But in DESERTS, Maria mentally spat the word out in her mind, you only had yourself and whatever miserable person, or indeed people, that tagged along with you. Even simply flying above the desert made Maria grumpy.

Still, they arrived, though the journey was too long for Maria's tastes. Almost immediately, the group seemed to splinter into several conversations. Maria kept quiet, instead opting to get a look at the social landscape... Yeesh. Inwardly, she cringed as she noticed the American refused to put the safety on his rifle. Wasn't looking forward to working with THAT one... The female Marine looked promising, 'till she started to smoke. Yeah, no, Maria refused to deal with that kind of shit. Ugh, she desperately hoped that the barracks wouldn't stink of cigarette smoke.

However... Despite the obnoxious Americans, the rest of 'em seemed promising. Strong, silent types Maria could deal with, and the Chinese looked like that they'd at least be interesting to talk to. She didn't exactly think they'd be out fighting, much, so finding a good conversationalist to spend the time with wouldn't be the worst thing to do.

She knew that her country was trying to snuggle up to the Asian nations, but frankly, Maria couldn't give a damn about international politics. When she did tune in, everything the countries did just embarrassed her. ESPECIALLY programs like the one she was currently in. Honestly, what were they even expected to do? She figured that this program would be lounging around in the barracks, if they were even done. The facilities didn't exactly impress her all too much- until they popped into that li'l ol' hangar.

Holy shit... Maria thought, and realized that the UN wasn't playing around, despite how completely nuts the thing looked from the outside. She continued the remain silent, trailing behind the rest of the group, as she tried to absorb every single detail about the place. She got more than a few suspicious glares from workers, but Maria was far too wrapped up in trying to practically memorize the layout of this hangar. This development changed her views on QUITE a few different things, and she caught up to the rest of the group just in time to see the checkpoint guard.

Great, a Russian...
Despite her mental grumbling, though, she wasn't terribly disappointed. It wasn't this guy's fault that his country was a bizarre Frankenstein mix of a schoolyard bully and a former global superpower. Whatever B.S. Russia pulled, one thing was constant: Maria was surprised that they'd even think about making a move like that. The guard, to his credit, didn't pester Maria much. Her paperwork was all in order, despite her having had several urges to mess them up so she could go back home. Then again, it probably wouldn't be home that she'd be sent to, if she was found this far in a secretive UN program without proper paperwork...

Maria glanced down at her papers yet again, and at the various groups ahead that were splintering off. Ah, jeez. Echo Squad. By the looks of things, she'd be partnered up with those Americans. Still, from what she could tell, the group wouldn't be ALL terrible. Maybe, just maybe, things wouldn't be as terrible as she figured they'd be...

Ah, screw it, her luck's been running firmly against her, lately. Might as well prepare for the worst. Maria quietly sidled up to the group, trying to find a comfortable position that wouldn't make her stand out. She knew that she was going to know these people eventually, but she sure as hell was gonna at least try to figure out who deserves respect BEFORE she starts handing out friendship passes.

2010, 19 December 2020, UNXIPU

As the new members of Echo squad were warming up to each other (barely), the bullhorns mounted on the walls within the warehouse started coming to life, producing static at first, before an extremely low voice, like one coming from a broken record, sounded out, slowly gaining momentum, before becoming discernable, and finally female - because it had to be female. Biology has it that the human brain hears female voices, or at least high-pitched voices, better and faster, which makes the voice from the bullhorn a logical choice. "-to Echo Quarters. Echo Squad to Echo Quarters."

"Finally! About God-damn time Dr. Shen got the AI working." Someone who looks like a hanger worker said as he was passing Echo squad while he's checking off a few times from his list and walking with a co-worker, "Should shave off a few days off our prep time."

"Fresh military personnel to the barracks. Fresh military personnel to the barracks." The robotic voice form the bullhorn continued announcing, non-stop, "Dr. Siew and Dr. Chai to the laboratory. Dr. Siew and Dr. Chai to the laboratory."

"Echo Squad to Echo Quarters. Echo Squad to Echo Quarters." The robotic announcer repeated again. Whoever was making it tick was growing impatient.

People, most particularly the new arrivals, were swarming to get on the industrial lifts. The last truck was pulling up on it as well. As a safety feature, a digital clock was counting down to when it would begin to descend. Less than a minute was left on the clock.

The UNXIPU base was built not for the core mission of the organisation itself. In fact, the base had existed a few years before the organisation. The alien investigation organisation, instead, was used as an excuse for testing new hardware and software for the UN and the multitude of organisations under its umbrella. It was also due to budgetary concerns, both real and petty, that a separate organisation was not created to test such experimental equipment, ideas and constructions. While the UN may be growing in importance following the rising tensions and threat of a new cold war, or even more drastically, a third world war, its infrastructures had not evolved as much. As such, there were lapses in its management and maintenance.

The colossal industrial elevator would lead down to the main warehouse of the facility, the first basement floor of the base, where the great volume of cargo would be stored in equally breathtakingly-sized shelves. Of course, as UNXIPU had just moved in and the base still incomplete after years of digging and construction work, there was little to be stored and much, much more that were still due to be taken from around the world. Those huge shelves, resembling scaffolding that looked like they were for the construction of skyscrappers, or the Great Pyramids of Giza if the Egyptians had scaffolding, were still being assembled. High-tech moving floors and utilities were still unoperational.

The main warehouse was connected directly to an experimental mission control room, with state of the art GPS tracking systems, infrastructure and computer technology, as well as the necessary hardware to support an army of technicians serving a space mission. In fact, UNXIPU's Mission Control was a working prototype for planned space missions that would be lead by the UN - an unprecedented step in the unity of the world, though some might say that it was coming a little too late.

The current state of the UNXIPU Mission Control, however, leaves much to be desired, as none of its over-hundred computer terminals were functional. The stage in the middle which houses the holographic projectors for a GPS globe weren't even installed yet. Half the lights in the all-important room weren't even installed, resulting in a dim glow. The huge hall was dark and cavernous and cold, representing unfulfilled potential.

The way the base was designed, Mission Control acts as a bridge between the underground hangers and the barracks. The hangers were currently only filled with several MV-22Cs donated by the US government when it downsized the military and a single experimental SR-77 Skyranger, which was the result of a joint program between UN member nations to produce a type of VTOL aircraft capable of deploying peacekeepers around the world on short notice. It was never deployed in any real missions as yet.

The barracks consists of a functional mess hall and enough quarters to house an army along with any infrastructure that they need, such as an armoury and a gym. While it was largely completed, it was far from finished as it was projected to indeed be able to house an army. Currently, it could barely serve the needs of all security and military personnel. everything else were either unfinished or not even carved out of the rock yet.

To get to the Echo quarters, one would have to walk past the high security armoury, which would be protected by bulletproof glass, electronics and an armed security squad, then through the mess hall where everyone would be when there was nothing to be done. As there was little to accomplish in the early stage of the organisation's operation, most, if not every soldier would be in the mess hall, making or consolidating friendships (which, for now, reflects current politics), having their rations or making use of the facilities there, though most of the entertainment suites were still unfinished, leaving only boardgame and tabletop games for fun.

'Follow the signs' The impatient Malaysian police officer had said.

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.

When the obviously crazy British man came over demanding names, and introducing himself as an Honorary captain, Eric would just point as his nametape, and read aloud "Ruven. Airman, Ruven."

Once the elevator started to descend however, Ruven could barely contain his excitement. He felt like he was in a movie. They were going to go into some secret underground military bunker, and grab some giant laser cannons, and go kill some aliens. Or something. Anything really. Doesn't matter when you use laser cannons. However, he quickly realized if this was a movie, it was a home movie. The elevator lead to vastly unfinished projects. Ruven felt deflated from it, and quietly exited the elevator. He followed the signs and group, flashing his badge to get through the security checkpoints, a little shocked at how utterly dirty it was. He thought the job hasty and unprofessional, and hoped this would be a short loan. A quick tour, and then right back on home. When they passed through the mess hall however, he quickly jogged off from the group, and acquired a sandwich, he rejoined the group, and once he made it to the barracks, chose a bed on the end of the room, sitting down on it.

Well, so much for pleasant conversation. This was probably a blessing in disguise; everyone here was either tired or unusually friendly. The last thing Dean wanted was somebody jumping down his throat for simply saying hello. It was probably better to stay with the norm to not seem as strange as the Englishman. Although, Dean couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of him with his arm around the guy from China. Just for that, he thought an introduction was in order. “My name is Dean Spear. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Bishop.” If he didn’t know any better, this whole situation would be a setup for a bad joke. And by the looks of some of the people in the group as the elevator went on the decent, this might just be that. Nearly everything looked like a half-finished home renovation project. And if the people in the base were a family, than it would be dysfunctional at best. At worst? There’d be a divorce. The only thing Dean wanted right now was to get some rest, so hopefully his brothers and sisters wouldn’t cause too much of a ruckus. He looked ahead at the various rooms that were available to him, and with no preference on sleeping space, Dean picked a door at random. “Hey, Echo Squad gets that room.” Grumbled a guard just as Dean held the doorknob; now fairly confused. “Wait, you mean…” The guard just stared on blankly, as if he’s gone through this process before. “Each squad gets a room. Echo sets up in there.” At the reveal, it was a bit of a disappointment. Bunks lined the walls, one over the other. Each and every one of these people would have to sleep in the same room. With a nervous gulp, Dean scuttled over to a bottom bunk in the corner, and slid his small bag of personals and sword under the bed. He was very particular about people touching his things. If one could do anything to get on Dean’s bad side, it’d be to set their hands on his prized katana without permission, and no one ever got permission.

The sheer audacty of the Englishman took Shaozu completely by surprise. So sudden and intrusive was Bishop's introduction that he was left stuttering on the edge of the conversation, wondering how in the hell this man had managed it. There was a glint of madness in his eye, and Shaozu recognised a dangerous mam when he saw one. After untangling himself from Bishops grasp, he gave the man a bitter scowl. '... Jiang Shaozu, People's Armed Police. UNIXIPU has strange recruiting standards, Mr Bishop. Was it your experience that earned you a place here or merely your insanity?' It may have sounded like rudeness, but this was actually Shaozu trying his best to not offend his British counterpart. International comradeship was based on mutual dislike and respect; he had the first bit down, so now was the time to start giving respect in his own twisted little way. As they talked, others drifted over toward them. The cowboy American, some Hispanic woman, a few others... It would take Herculean effort on his part, but Shaozu would try to afford them each the respect they were due as professional solders, regardless of their nationality.

Before long a tannoy sounded, giving the newly formed Echo Squad their first orders. Unlike most of the others, Shaozu was not concerned with the high-tech state of the facility; China was a veritable wonderland of gadgets nowadays and it got old fast. So instead of gawking at the tech on display, he simply forged ahead, following the directions given to the barracks a level below. He soon split off from the group, most of whom were veering toward the bunk rooms, instead taking a look around the exercise area and armoury. Nothing much out of the ordinary, bar a few tantalising glimpses of weapons of unknown design; the pistol looked particularly exotic.

"Echo Squad to Echo Quarters. Echo Squad to Echo Quarters. Echo Squad to Echo Quarters."
Maria shot a withering glare towards the bullhorn, and the intensity of it only grew after she heard something about "AI". She was hardly some Luddite, but even she had her limits. In this case, that limit was a stubborn refusal to be hurried along by some irritating, crackly voice from a bullhorn.

Maria gave the room she was in a last glance before slipping into the veritable river of people that thronged the lift. She quietly counted along with the digital timer, half-hoping to find something else to mentally complain about with the base's technology. It was better than merely following the flow of the new arrivals, feeling entirely too small and brain-dead. However, once the large clock ticked down to zero, the lift began its shuddering descent to the warehouse.

Once the lift reached the bottom, though, Maria scored the vindictive victory she had been searching for, mentally noting the colossal shelves... Almost all of which were bereft of anything that Maria would consider useful supplies. She hoped that the UN wasn't relying entirely on donations, because from the looks of things, that would quickly end in starvation. A brief thought flickered in her mind, that they could possibly be storing more food elsewhere, but she filed that thought away for later. She still had her quarters to find, and the crowd of new arrivals didn't seem like it would stop on its winding path through the facilities any time soon.
Honestly, the whole setup just seems a bit... Sad. You'd think the UN could do better, but I suppose they're penny-pinching, as always.
Despite her initial cheer at finding her suspicions that this place wasn't AS high-tech as the hangar suggested, Maria still felt a fleeting pang of disappointment. Sure, having her instincts proven right was one thing, but actually working for a competent, well-thought-out organization would be a whole different story. Still, she got over it, and steeled herself for the bureaucracy to come.

The group that she was in had almost made its way through Mission Control before Maria realized that they were out of the warehouse. She quietly scolded herself, and got a quick glance at the large, shadowy room before passing into the rather more brightly-lit hallway. Unfortunately, all the lightning did was serve the purpose of proving Maria's rather scathing regards to the place. It was an absolute mess, and Maria's opinion swerved wildly back and forth, like some pendulum, between the two extremes of irritation at how ridiculous the place looked, and a sort of pity, for both herself and her compatriots, who had to live in it.

As the group entered the barracks, it slowly started to dissolve and lose people to the various “sights”, if you could call them that, which the area offered. As Maria strolled on towards Echo Quarters, she dryly wondered how the hallway would look like if it was entirely rock. Of course, she didn't have to imagine TOO much paneling away in order to get that image.

This time, at least, Maria was prepared for the twang of disappointment on her heartstrings as she entered Echo Quarters. Honestly, she should've expected bunks. Individual rooms, apparently, were too much to ask for from an organization that can't even cover its own walls.
She collapsed into a bottom bunk on the wall opposite to the entrance, where she'd have a good view of people coming in and leaving. The bed wasn't soft, closer to the opposite, really, but as she crashed down onto it, causing the springs to squeak wildly at the new weight, she felt like she was in heaven after the long ride to this God-forsaken base. Maria uselessly fluffed at the single pillow, bare of any sort of cover, unfortunately, and slowly worked her way back up to a sitting position perpendicular to the direction of the bed, with her legs hanging off the side. Good. Looks like she was just short enough to be able to sit up in bed, without banging her head on the bottom of the top bunk.
Honestly, Maria was too exhausted to even give her fellow squadmates a cursory glance, and instead opted to rest her eyes for a few moments. Her legs dangling off the side of her bed, and the back of her head rested against the refreshingly cool wall behind her, Maria realized, This is the first moment I've had alone for hours...
Well... She was gonna enjoy this. Hopefully that damn bullhorn wouldn't sound again, or that her squadmates wouldn't be too loud while settling in. She wasn't optimistic, but the temporary, if illusory, alone-time gave her a brief flicker of hope. It didn't even cross her mind that she'd be called out of the quarters soon, or that someone might want to strike up a conversation. Hopefully her bunkmates would be courteous enough to realize that she wasn't in the mood to chat.

Jetlag sucked. Everybody knew it, almost everybody complained about it or warned friends going on a trip, and everybody claimed they could beat it. The 707th included tips for overcoming it in every briefing for a long deployment she'd sat in on, simple stuff mostly, things you would remember quickly because there was seldom time to let your internal clock adjust on its own - no naps after landing, get some exercise and air, and most definitely don't spend the last night before flight like she had. The hangover was small time, it had been gone long before her plane touched down in Libya, but travelling across several time zones on short notice was enough of a blow coming off a full night's sleep; a nap on the plane helped, but on the way to the Chinook she still felt like someone had reached inside her, twisted all her organs around and put them back out of order. She'd given the soldiers aboard - so many soldiers, so few scientists; something didn't smell right about that - a wave and a "Sowi Lee Hyun-seong, nice to meet you" before takeoff, but few responded or even seemed to notice, so she'd trudged over to a seat with leaden legs and settled down for the trip across the desert.

Maybe it was the constant thrum-thrum-thrum of engine and rotor in the background of her reading, or the way the heat outside seeped through the metal to wash over her, or just years of developing the ability to sleep anywhere when she needed it enough, but the next thing she knew a gentle hand was shaking her awake and a voice told her they'd landed. Corporal Simelane was a Canadian soldier by way of South Africa, and their conversation did wonders for clearing the last cobwebs from Lee's mind even as her focus shifted to examining the warehouse interior and all the various figures buzzing about within. Everyone, it seemed, had a little stake in this little skywatching business - though perhaps that had been obvious the moment she was asked to leave Seoul as part of the Republic's first contribution to the effort. Skywatchers didn't need men and women with guns unless they expected not to like what they saw.

She couldn't lie, though, the whole "secret base underneath the desert" thing? Not bad as arrangements went, as much as it felt like it was out of every spy movie she'd ever seen make its way east. She and her companion parted ways at the freight elevator, assigned to different squads, but they'd agreed to meet up at the mess hall sometime after, leaving Lee to join the rest of Echo. They seemed an interesting lot - an Englishman who'd just got done talking as she arrived, a Chinese man who reeked of officiousness, a few Americans who looked like they were sizing everything up, a Japanese man holding a katana like he actually expected to need it, that Mexican woman whose fingers made Lee cringe a little - though apparently few had much to say about this whole situation. Even so, when the elevator finally reached the main part of the base she could practically feel the disappointment radiating off some of their group as it became apparent they were dealing less with a James Bond-esque superbase and more... well, what Lee had honestly expected from all the reports she'd heard of UNXIPU: a secure but plainly half-finished structure with room to grow but much to expand upon. Some of the officers she'd met would've had someone's head for stuff like the empty mission control or the bare rock walls in some corridors, but surely it wasn't all bad. She knew she wasn't the only one who'd stared a moment at that new plane in the hangar, and the state of the armoury and mess hall made it evident this structure wasn't the work of people who didn't know what they were doing; hell, it existing at all managed that much.

Besides, the Republic of Korea wasn't in the business of forgetting its friends, or its debt to the UN. There was a time the North had all of the peninsula save Busan under its heel, but the international community didn't abandon the Republic, and the US especially stayed with them for all those decades; the decision makers in Seoul remembered who had helped make their nation great, and so would Lee. There was too much obvious money put into this whole show, and into acquiring personnel, for UNXIPU to be the farce it almost looked like at a glance, even if the amenities would be sorely lacking for a while (or at least until more of her personal effects got shipped over; the laptop was private, but the rest she wouldn't mind sharing until there was a proper rec room). Sure, Echo Squad's barracks weren't a luxury suite, but was it really realistic to expect anything else?

If she heard anyone complaining too much about the ring of bunk beds, it would be hard not to let them know how back home, recruits at boot camp only had the space immediately in front of their cubby as a living area, or what it was like getting some rest while dodging NKSOF patrols in the Taebaek Mountains. A real bed of any type could make someone want to sob from relief coming off that. Lee usually wasn't the "sob with relief" type, but after spending most of the day in a plane or helicopter her muscles were making their desire to settle on something actually comfortable for a minute or two quite clear, enough so that she almost didn't step out of the way in time when one of the others - the American woman, a Marine by the look of her - marched by to claim the upper part of the bunk she'd been heading towards. Oh well, Lee actually liked the bottom bunks; it was easy to get privacy by tying sheets or extra clothes to the side of the bed above you, and you could get up and moving quicker if you were in a hurry, which happened pretty often in Army life. The mattress on this one had about as little give as she thought was possible for things not made of metal, but a little firmness was good for you, a bed you could sink in to was really a civilian thing; as long as it gave good support for the back, and there was a warm blanket and comfortable pillow, she seldom thought it worth complaining about.

Maybe she was trying a little too hard to be optimistic about this whole thing. This wasn't exactly her first time thousands of miles away from all her family and friends, but usually the "why" of the whole thing was clearer, and something about being out here without her usual team left a knot in her stomach. They'd been given some extra furlough time for their performance in that affair with the defector's family, but knowing they were probably still safe at home couldn't beat having them here next to her right now; after three years of working so closely together, high command might as well have asked her to chop off her right arm before getting on the plane. Even just having Choi around might have made the whole "this UN UFO-chasing organisation wants elite soldiers from everywhere" thing feel less weird, but well, Mi-na couldn't help that her leg was still healing. When her laptop got here she'd have to send them all an e-mail, let them know she got here - undoubtedly she couldn't say where "here" was, of course - okay.

For now, though, not much left to do but wait. Doubtless some member of local brass would be in soon, or they'd receive some orders for proceeding with this whole situation, but for the moment all there was to do was try to settle in. After a last look around at what her new squadmates were getting up to, she cracked open her book and tried to find where she'd left off back when the helicopter ride started so many hours ago.

"Airman Ruven," Bishop said, and then, "Dean," and finally, "Officer Shaozu. What a wonderful little group, thrilled to be in your presence, and - all - of - that." His gaze wandered as he spoke, assessing the little ramshackle loading bay; he paid Jiang's egress from his arm no mind, clearly not taking offense.

"Oh, Officer Shaozu," he murmured, eyes snapping to Jiang's, the flicker of a wry smile warping his haunted face in the dim halogen lights. "My madness was gifted to me by the Army of Great Britain - cultured primarily in a two-by-four cupboard of a home over the course of two years (solitary confinement does alter the brain, my dear boy) - but it was the source of my peers' systematic denial that earned me a place in this organization, I suspect." His eyes never left his Chinese compatriot's, and he spoke lowly, but audibly, with the heightened fervor of a brilliant madman revealing his greatest secret; "You see, some years ago - I couldn't tell you how many, truly, as I've lost my talent with timekeeping of late - I was made privy to an inexorable truth: we - are - very - much - not - alone. Whatever UNXIPU's current state of readiness, rest assured, it is the only shelter in a coming storm, and you, myself, and the rest of these lovely folks will soon witness horrible things." The smile broadened, enveloping his entire face, almost sickening in its grimness - as though he knew your deepest fears, and could bring them to life at the drop of a hat. "Beautiful things, wonderful, that will challenge the very foundation of our reality - but horrible nonetheless."

With startling abruptness, the Captain shattered the grim, unnerving atmosphere just as quickly as he had established it, his face reverting into some sort of normalcy. "Though I do fear that Her Majesty's prison service was quite ready to be rid of me." With a flourish of his fingers, he expounded, "I'm quite good at getting away," before progressing forward with the rest of the teams onto the great lift - and, being so late, found himself clamoring aboard a crate filled to the brim with sheafs of printer paper, waving away a nervous Polish guard's attempts to get him down.

Throughout their speedy tour of the underground laboratory that was UNXIPU's secret facilities, Jonathan's expression was that of childlike idolatry: he framed a box with both thumbs and pointer fingers, viewing the unfinished lair as if through time progressing-lenses - and, watching his face, it seemed entirely plausible that the Captain could somehow glean glimpses into the future and see the bright, shiny home that awaited them over the coming weeks of construction.

Wandering blasély into Echo Squad's barracks, Bishop did not lay claim to a bunk, instead optioning to pace the room; as others pondered whether or not he might wear a rut into the cold concrete floor, the Captain seemed to ponder something intensely.

2020, 19 December 2020, UNXIPU

A fleeting, solitary conversation was struck between two men hailing from opposite ends of the world from each other. Silence ruled as the newly formed Echo Squad was just settling in, only to be disturbed by a distant rumble that kept coming closer and closer, like a stampede of rhinos from the heart of Africa. As the noise came close enough, footsteps could be heard - numerous footsteps, certainly coming from more than a pair of booted feet.

Shortly after, the double-doors into the quarters of Echo Squad swung open forcefully, as if giants were behind opening them. What was behind them were probably worse. A highly esteemed Chinese officer of captain rank decked out in fine formal uniform was holding one door while a rather grim looking Chinese Class 3 Chief Sergeant, his head covered in numerous scars, was holding the other. Another Chinese soldier, a serious-looking Staff Sergeant was wheeling in a huge cart full of black duffel bags accented by the usual UN light blue. A Mongolian Corporal with a rather out-of-place smile followed with what appeared to be portable furniture. The place was very new after all. Echo Squad was newly formed, and so was UNXIPU. Echo Quarters was never used at all, and as such was as bare as it was clean.

When the cargo had cleared the doors, the Captain and C3 Chief Sergeant closed the door behind them. While the latter looked like a volcano ready to explode, the Captain gazed at his new squad indifferently, his face made of porcelain, hiding tangles of secrets both petty and major behind it. The latter, covered in scars, glared at those sitting or lying down on their bunks, his eyes wide with rage, as if insulted a thousand times over.

Then the Captain, his nametag saying his name was 'Lee Da Jun' shifted his calculating gaze over to 1st Lieutenant James Kim, then to the other officer, the Korean Hyun-Seong, who he noticed had a defiant book in her hands. He looked down at them with an authoritative gaze with his left hand gripping his ceremonial Jian calmly, expecting something. The Sergeant Major of the squad, the rather severe-looking if not frightening spectre of a man covered in scars (His right ear bitten by a bullet, a rather thick graze scar on his left cheek and a line curving around the back of his head were tell-tale signs of how much he had gone through, and those were the more obvious trophies he had taken), looked just about ready to shout and deal out punishments at everyone, but his painfully fiery, piercing gaze directed at the NCOs of the squad told the more observant who he would likely blame.

The two soldiers who had wheeled in the goods had fallen silent. They had previously been conversing in Chinese about something - fluency in the language would yield that the Chinese Staff Sergeant believes that the squad would be laidback while the Mongolian Corporal the opposite. It seemed apparent who was right.

The minutes ticked past, and eventually the assortment settled in. Most were laying claim to their bunks:

The Asian with white hair, painfully feminine in Carrie's opinion, was stashing his carry-on and sword under the bunk. She assumed it was a ceremonial weapon, of which the practice of carrying was regaining popularity in many Eastern militaries, but something about his demeanor and the way that he delicately slid the katana out of sight denoted a sincere personal attachment to the weapon, and she wondered if he expected to use it or not. More so, she wondered if he was worth a shit with it, in the sense of swinging it around in gimmicky, ritualistic training. The thought of using it in a fight seemed out of the question, bringing a sword to a gunfight was tantamount to suicide in a modern gunfight, but you could never really tell anymore with the Asian countries. Admittedly, they'd made large strides in terms of military prowess as of late, but as far as she was tracking they still clung to tacky strategies, Banzai charges and shit like that.

The American Airman sat alone on his bunk, not attempting conversation with anyone. He was half-way through a sandwich, the sight of which made Campbell's mouth water and stomach turn. She hadn't eaten in a while, and she struggled to decide between snooping around the mess, galley, chow, whatever it was called in this place for a sandwich of her own, or sneaking off to find a place to smoke in order to subdue her hunger. The wild haired British man was pacing back and forth down the center of the room for what appeared to be no reason, and as he reached the far end of the room and turned, marching back towards her bunk, she realized that his eyes were equally wild. Though he could be SAS, explaining the thousand-yard stare, he had more the look of a mad scientist, and she thought he'd heard him loudly babbling about something or other back at the elevator. He could just be an idiot. Probably.

". . .We'll ride them someday. . ", The Stones' closing chorus played through her generic white earbuds, a song by The Misfits beginning without a pause, assaulting her ears with grating guitar and aggressive drums. She'd been on an old punk kick lately, the new stuff was too poppy for her tastes, having been turned on to it by Corporal Willis, her team leader. The Mexican woman had fallen asleep against her bunk. Campbell couldn't blame her, and considered doing the same. She recognized the ROK Army uniform, but the rank stitched onto the Korean woman's collar was about as distinguishable to her as a Rorschach. She met eyes with the Korean once, Carrie's displaying an almost harsh apathy, before the latter took a seat on the bottom bunk, the metal frame swaying with the additional weight. She'd hoped that an American would have taken the bottom bunk. South Korea was still allied with the United States, but the mutual disdain between the United States and the majority of Asian countries was contagious, and it was a distinct possibility that she'd have to endure her bunkmate's bitching and scheming. Carrie smirked, the image of her scarred knuckles drilling into the Korean's nose drifting through her mind, though maybe she was getting ahead of herself.

The doors swung open, and all of the attention in the room was shifted to the new group who entered. They carried about them an air of authority, and the two men in charge separated themselves from the others, two peons carting in bags and small furniture items. All were Chinese, a fact that troubled Carrie deeply. It was like the newfangled superpower was this shit-show's core supporter. She could see the chevrons on the Sergeant's shoulders, and though as unfamiliar with the PLA's ranks as the ROK Army's, it was obvious that he was an NCO. He appeared on the verge of frenzy, for no real reason, and Campbell instantly recognized his leadership style, a bullheaded Sergeant flexing his nuts to prove that he's in charge. Before he had a chance to start screaming in gibberish, she quickly climbed down from her perch and assumed a rigid parade rest. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands locked behind the back, right hand over left, head and eyes straight forward, face expressionless. Her uniform was crisp, her boots were clean. Despite her attitude, and as much as she already hated this asshole, who didn't look like he was very good at not getting shot, she was a Marine, and she would proudly display it. Reminiscing about her psychopathic DI's on Paris Island, the Marine stood like a statue, waiting for instructions, yelling, or most likely, both.

He paced, paced, paced, furiously thinking, thinking, thinking. The Captain's mind - a veritable monument to mental instability - left him reeling, ghost thoughts chasing each other about his noggin, both disinterlaced and wholly intertwined and everything inbetween -

We can't establish a chain of command between the rebels, but they have to be receiving their orders from somewhere Jeanie's friend Tod broke the window, mum, t'wasn't me, I'm your ittle Jon-Jon Bishop, Captain of Her Majesty's Army, nevermore, nevermore, they stole that from you, m'boy What do they expect from you, hm? You haven't worn a uniform in over two years, you're not battle ready - if you ever were - You know the truth, though, don't you?

Where've you been hiding these long years, Jonnie Boy?

"Excellent form, Lance - Corporal - Campbell," he congratulated the Marine, eyeing her awkwardly. "You're quite the polished soldier, aren't you? Why are you - oh, I see." The Captain had about-faced, now, taking in the new inhabitants of the room. "I must say, there certainly seems to be an over-representation of the orient here, no?"

Examining the two men, it was clear that Bishop had neither the patience nor the wherewithal to behave as if he were a professional. "My goodness," he went on, staring quite openly at the mangled other Captain. "Have you recently lost a fight with a terribly angry industrial ceiling fan, m'boy?"

Leaning back and glancing at Carrie, he stage whispered, one hand over his mouth, "Strictly speaking, I don't feel relegated to a chain of command, being that I am a civilian."

Maria jerked back... Well... “Awake” wouldn't be the best word for it, she supposed, but certainly more conscious of her surroundings. She rubbed the back of her head, and did a quick survey of the room. She didn't like what she saw. One of the two men that had barged into Echo Quarters looked extremely pissed off, and so Maria quietly got to her feet, one hand still idly rubbing a spot on the back of her head.

She wasn't in the mood to tangle with her superiors, so Maria at least gave an attempt to standing straight up, though she doubted her posture would cut it in a truly serious situation. Her right hand, which until this point had been rubbing the sore spot on her skull where her head had rested against the wall, quickly dropped to her side, and Maria suppressed a grimace. She didn't like the empty feeling at her side, but she was hardly going to carry a sidearm here, of all places.

To occupy herself while she idly waited for the inevitable explosion from the more angry-looking of Chinese officers, she drummed her fingers on the sides of her legs, a habit that she had picked up in childhood and hadn't bothered to stop since. Unfortunately, things very quickly went downhill. Some crazy Englishman started to run his mouth, apparently trying to antagonize what she assumed were her superiors. She could barely make out what he was saying, between his fairly quick speech patterns, the accent, and the extremely distracting look in his eyes.

Maria repressed another grimace. Did they honestly expect her to work with this... Well, madman? Ridiculous! This program was more cobbled-together than she had even realized. Were they just grabbing any civilian that they could off of th- No, no. Best not to judge, or be overly negative. She was going to be spending a long time here, she guessed, and so if she didn't want to go as mad as the Englishman, she might as well attempt to focus on the positives... No matter how little there seemed to be.

Might have to work on the English a bit more... Despite the fact that every other person here seems Chinese.

A quick, irritated puff of air escaped Maria's nostrils, but otherwise she remained where she was, standing stiffly in front of her bunk. If this was how every single meeting with her superiors was going to go, this was going to be a LONG job....

At that moment Dean peered up at the new faces in the barracks, rather unsure of what to think or how to react to them. While professional in nature, Dean’s former unit in T.A.G was rather laid back, unlike most military systems. Of course, he was one of Captain Hitam’s boys. They were the best of the bunch, so it was expected that they knew how to be professional without adhering to common formalities. What exactly are they doing now anyway? The last time Dean saw them was in Japan, and with the successful operation on destroying a major yakuza family, it could be that they’re repeating the process in a different area. Hitam was one to never turn down work after all. After all the shit he went through with his parents as a kid… Maybe that’s why he took such a liking to Dean, similar experiences. Come to think of it, Jess also lost her mom back in ’05. Although that was a car wreck, not exactly the same as getting your parents murdered. She was always really quiet; and never seemed to get attached to anyone, an exception going for Flint and his charismatic abilities.

Shit, the only thing happening now’s a kid getting homesick. The bright lights of Yokohama at night almost brought Dean to tears when he saw them again for the first time in years. The cityscape was leagues better than this mesh of technology and cluttered construction zones. Still, he was here now with a job to do. Dean stood up out of respect for the officers in his presence, pushing the nostalgia out and awaiting whatever introductions or orders he’d be given.

Eric placed the last bit of sandwich in his mouth. He sat silently chewing and watching the British man pace the room wildly. Eric rolled his eyes, this was going to be a shitshow. He looked around watching everyone else settle in. He wasn't entirely sure if he could just take a nap, or if they were going to have some higher directive for the rest of the day. The military tended to do that, asking jet lagged, tired soldiers to do tasks the second their boots were on the ground.

Ruven heard the doors bang open, and turned to look, seeing a captain and some unidentified NCO enter. Eric stood up, going to a lazy parade rest. The operational Air Force generally only went to standby for high ranking ncos, not just normal sergeants. But in the special forces, that wasn't common. Unless you were in training, then you went to attention for cadre. Ruven just followed the example of the Marine. Better to be overly courteous than to get paperwork for not doing it.

Ruven examined each of the two officers. The captain looked new, like he had never seen combat. Probably a desk jockey. Ruven assumed there were a lot of them assigned here. Men who had never been to war, but had good reviews or bad, and needed to either pad their resumes with working here, or had been sent here to disappear. The NCO on the other hand, looked like he had been on the losing side of every war in the last century, and Ruven immediately respected it. The two were the obvious Officer Enlisted relationship. The Officer asks for something, and the Enlisted get it done, regardless of the cost.

Lee was on her feet almost the moment the doors opened, coming to attention alongside her bunkmate - harsh as she seemed, she clearly had every bit of the discipline the Marines were known for - and bringing her arm up in a crisp salute. She didn't know this "Lee Da Jun" from Adam, as the Americans would say, but she recognised his rank insignia and that was enough; protocol said non-hostile foreign officers of equal or superior rank were to be saluted and given their due respect, and as... diverse a band as Echo Squad seemed so far, she was an officer of the Republic of Korea and wouldn't shame her homeland by letting discipline fail. Her posture was perfect, her uniform smoothed down, her eyes on Captain Lee with only the briefest look to acknowledge the sergeant glaring daggers at her, and the only word from her was a polite "Sir!", as much to remind the rest of the squad there was a senior officer present as anything else.

It was unfortunate, then, that not all her fellows were similarly inclined. Most stood by their bunks, but then there was the Englishman from the elevator, back to babbling half to himself before he turned on the newcomers. It took quite a bit of her trained discipline not to give him both barrels for breaking ranks, as well as the reminder that the mangled sergeant over there was probably about to beat her to the punch - yeah, she'd seen his type among the regular grunts back home, even a couple in the 707th. With sergeants in the ROK Army you tended to get bored conscripts trying to ride out the end of their mandatory service, bullies who revelled in the military hierarchy and the chance to throw their weight around when given the excuse, and now and then the rare dependable NCO who was made of rock and actually cared about his job - though she'd been out of most crosshairs due to her commission, she'd still seen how sniffing out the second type became a survival mechanism among the men.

Still, as long as nobody got hurt maybe letting that steam come out would be for the best. Really, whose brilliant idea was it to send a half-mad civilian to join the squad? She'd thought maybe he was SAS during the elevator ride, but this nonsense? How would he be anything but a danger to the team? Even Katana Boy over there was managing to show some respect and consideration for the unit. What was next, the vehicles in that hangar turned out to be made of cardboard?

The air went still as the seconds grew longer, and Lee Hyun-seong waited for the other shoe to drop.

2022, 19 December 2020, UNXIPU

"I prefer my officers to stand by my side." Captain Da Jun, perhaps looking more aristocratic than he really is, said in English after sizing up Hyun-Seong, who was to be his second-in-command, inviting her to be at ease and come to him. His voice was cold and calculated, his face nearly vacant except for the obvious determination and professionalism sparkling in his eyes. He'd made the decision on the spot. Originally, James, the other Korean officer in the squad, was to be the squad's executive officer, but the way he was scrambling into parade from his bunk did little to boost his first impressions. Besides, the Captain had wanted an excuse all along to reduce the importance of the Americanised Korean for the sake of the squad, and now he'd gotten it. While he had little trust for South Koreans, he cared even less for Americans. Much to his chagrin, there were quite a number of them in his squad. Turning to his squad's Sergeant Major, he ordered gently in Chinese, waving a hand absent-mindedly at the general vicinity, "Fall in the rest of the squad."

"You dog-shits! You heard the commander! Get over here before you get it!" The heavily scarred sergeant major, as if something had finally exploded in him, yelled past those who were already on parade. Then, in his sudden fit of frenzy, he turned his dark gaze at the men and women who were already standing at attention, but for a moment, was distracted by the British man who was, in his view, disrupting the parade. He didn't take too kindly to that either. Brushing aside his earlier remarks towards his scars, the sergeant major marched up to him, angry boots stomping the ground, and quite curtly told him off: "What the hell you doing!? You piece of-! Stand in a corner and the Captain will deal with you later!"

By then he was having a facial tic, clearly pissed off by the rather lax discipline in Echo squad. Ruven, with his rather poor form, had caught his attention immediately, and he was next in the line of fire. "You filthy Yankee! What is this! Stand properly! Or I give you a week's guard duty outside!" He bared his teeth like a wolf, and if he was any fiercer he would have grown fangs and ate the airman's face. "Bunch of good-for-nothings!" Once he was done with the airman, his attention had shifted quickly to the woman beside him, "And you!" For a moment, he had little to say, and was instead looking her over from head to toe, almost as if disappointed that the lance corporal wasn't flawed. "Better keep this up or you join him outside!"

Just as quickly, the sergeant major's attention shifted again, this time to the entire bunk, and he noticed something that took the cake, "WHERE IN BUDDHA'S BUTTCRACK IS SHAO ZU!!!" Looking around, his face boiling, he was almost ready to storm out and drag the missing soldier in himself when the captain reined him in a little.

"Leave it to the new AI, Yong Feng." The Captain said calmly as he surveyed his squad, a miliion considerations going through his mind. Mumbling even more curses under his breath, the sergeant major pulled a wireless headphone out of his pocket, wore it and pressed the intercom button on it, ordering the AI to give out a repeated announcement for all Echo Squad members to fall in.

That was Class 3 Chief Sergeant Yong Feng in a nutshell. While the ignorant would no doubt compare him to a mad dog, the more knowledgeable would soon fall in awe of him. The sergeant major was a decorated war hero, very well known for being quite literally impossible to kill. He had survived numerous ambushes by Xinjiang extremists, sometimes coming out alive as the sole survivor. He had survived border skirmishes with multiple nations, on land and off, not all of which were favourable to his side. He was peppered with bullets by the enemy to no avail. In fact, he had gotten so used to it that he hardly flinch from the pain at all, and could even identify the calibre of the bullets shot into him. For numerous times, the 'Bulletproof Monk' as he was known internationally, was featured on the media in and outside of China, with him telling stories of one cluster of scar or another. Legends and myths were even constructed around him - the village he had come from was particularly fond of doing that.

Even as the squad was scrambling to fall in, the Captain was already beginning to brief them, "Now, as you lot may already know, you have been assigned to Echo Squad. We represent the 5th and newest unit under the military branch of UNXIPU. This is a civilian organisation, and we are here to provide enhanced security on the field as the civilians make their... investigations." From his tone, it was obvious that even the Captain could not believe what UNXIPU was supposed to do, "We do what the security detail we follow couldn't. In the event of a firefight, current standing orders are to reinforce field security and evacuate any civilians brought along for the investigation."

"Delta Squad is finishing their shift soon so we'll need to get things into order quickly. 2nd Lieutenant Hyun-Seong, your appointment will be second commanding officer. You will commandeer fire team 2, which consists of everyone in the squad but me, the sergeant major, Staff Sergeant Lam and Corporal Otgonbaya. Your fire team will be the sledgehammer, and mine the directing hand. fire team 1 is command squad. I need you to get your fire team organised."

"The bags we brought here contains everything you need for the duration of this mission. In them you will find your PDA, UN headdresses, helmet and armbands, among other less important things. The PDA contains your organisation email, and inside it SOPs, organisation intel, mission briefing, posting details, everything."

"And as soon as you done dragging your feet, you will collect your weapons at the armoury! It is standard protocol to keep your weapons close at all times!" The Sergeant Major cuts in as soon as the Captain was done, "There will be no training regimes, but you will be tested monthly, so no slacking!"

"Now, unless any of you have any questions, I am due to attend a meeting with the HODs."

It was very interesting that the Captain would pick an officer so quickly. Dean could only assume that the very best candidate out of the squad was picked for such a position. There was no envy here; leadership wasn’t exactly a skill in this blonde’s possession. No, he was far more comfortable waiting for and completing orders. It wasn’t the most glamorous, but it surly helped quell any surge of bravado or idiocy in terms of Dean stepping in and suggesting that maybe everyone wasn’t on top of their game after a long tiring flight. But boy, could Sargent Feng chew out with the best of them. Clearly a man with that many injuries lacked the patience for new recruits. He looked more like a mangy guard dog than anything, but anyone who could live through what it looks like Feng’s been through must either be lucky, or skilled. Although the more he thought about it, would he consider being stationed here an insult? Serving with a high probability of death only to be sent to some undercooked organization… who would have thunk it?

Hm, this was going to be a long operation, wasn’t it? A long, boring operation that couldn’t live up to the high expectations some of the squad expected. Fantastic. Maybe escorting scientists around places with “alien activity” wouldn’t be that bad. Sure, it was rather unlikely that there’d be any fighting, but all that left was boring hours looking at a whole lot of nothing. Ah well, no use complaining. Rifling through his newly acquired bag, Dean held his attention on whatever he could find, choosing to study the contents so he wouldn’t have to go over them later. The PDA was a bit prehistoric, and there was a hunch that the included email address wouldn’t be used for anything personal. The information it contained about how the operation would conduct itself was the most important, so Dean began to read over that while the authority filed out.