The florescent lights that ran along the ceiling did a less than stellar job at keeping the room brightly illuminated. With only one door, the way in, locked, there was not much to do besides sit in one of eight chairs set adjacent to each other, facing forward. The front of the room had a monitor, but it was off and close inspection would reveal no method of activation.

The back-rest of each chair had upon it a number, in order from left to right they counted from two to nine. The width of the room could comfortably fit nine chairs, but only these eight were present. Sitting in each chair were seven men and one woman. Each one took the number that matched the number they were given earlier that day, save for the men in chairs numbered two and eight. These men were already given their numbers, and only they had any idea what was going on. They had each been selected for some secret project. They were told they cant refuse, and are not to tell anyone. They each underwent a series of surgeries to improve natural abilities and add new skills. They were told that they would be outfitted, but have not received any sort of armor or weaponry.

The man seated in chair two had a stern glare about him, one of dedication. His short hair and facial stubble was a blend of blonde and red. His emerald eyes examined the other seven people, and the room.

Chair number three had a similarly poised man. This one's dark hair and eyes only improved the intimidating military rigidness he wore on his face and posture.

Number four was a younger man. At least he seemed younger behind a cloth that rose above his mouth and nose. Only his grey hair and red eyes were visible underneath a black hood.

Fifth was a rather confident looking man. His smirk and muscle gave him an aura of cockiness. But there was a shine in his sapphire eyes that hinted at being more than a man of force.

A dogtag hung from the neck of the man seated in chair six. Bandaged hands stroked navy colored hair in one, and a dagger in the other.

The seventh chair belonged to a fashionable young man. Gold hem lined a black suit, accenting his amethyst eyes and black hair. His demeanor appeared calm and collected, ready for whatever he was here for.

Seated in chair eight was a man who had the very obvious look of some kind of technician or doctor. His white lab coat matched his snow colored hair. His bright blue eyes gave away his excitement.

The final chair held a woman with long red hair. This ninth person had an aura of grace about her, but also some strange mix of anticipation and depression. Her slate grey eyes examined her new companions and the dull room they were seemingly trapped in.

A stagnant silence haunted the air around the eight individuals. It seemed that no one would come through the door anytime soon. It was only a matter of time before one of the seated spoke up.

Cautiously Saffron tapped her wrist comp and accessed the information she had on her new colleagues. Having only arrived the night before and been given separate quarters from the rest, for obvious reasons, this was her first encounter with most of them. Other than Cmdr Riley, who'd conducted her integration interview a few weeks earlier the only information she had was the official reports and documents to which she'd been granted access after being accepted onto this programme.

Quickly she skimmed through the notes, trying to put faces to names as she glanced down the line. There were the three officers and three non-coms, not including herself. Along with that there was a civilian whose status seemed unconfirmed according to her files. Having read all she could from the sparse information at hand the newly warranted officer pulled up a holo of her wife, Yolanda. For a moment she let her mind wander back to the previous morning and smiled lovingly at the projected image before shutting the display down.

She wasn't entirely comfortable with her new rank. Technically she did still have seniority over half the men in the room, although she was unsure exactly where the good doctor fell in the chain of command as there was no rank listed for him in any of the data packets she'd received. Her own position felt just as unstable somehow, as though she were only here under sufferance and at the first misstep would be asked to leave, not that she wouldn't deserve it.

Obviously they'd been locked in this room for a reason though, and as only a non-com it wasn't her place to question orders, not anymore. Instead she sat to attention, her hands on her knees and back straight, awaiting those unquestionable orders as her mind drifted back to the warmth of the previous day.

Seth looked around at the room with his typical stoic face on, deciding to test his memory skills which were below average compared to his other mental capabilities. The man on his right was the leader; 2. After him was the heavy weapons expert; 3. Next after himself was 5, was, according to the dossier, the "unconventional warfare" specialist. So a guerilla. 6... That was the... Sniper. That was it. To the sniper's left was the team medic, then the Tech expert, then our... Female. Right.
Forgot there was a female in the team. Numbers and specialties don't convey gender, yet are the only means of getting accurate tactical data. Names mean nothing. Especially in millitary. All we are are numbers and/or ranks. We're here for their purposes. We do good, then we get a treat. It's the real life RTS game. With that, Seth saw no reason to sit at attention, so he leaned back comfortably in his chair as he sized everyone up to their dossier.

Today's the big day.

Scott carefully examined each soldier in the room, or more accurately, reexamined them. One by one he had previously met each of them, so he already knew much about his team. Despite this, a certain uneasiness loomed over him as if drawn vicariously from the others. Though he had gotten to know the seven of them, they had not gotten to know each other. The sight of them was something, alright; though most of them were about the same age, most everything else was different about them from their physique to their posture and even the clothes they wore. It was a hop-skip-and-yard away from the matching uniforms and robotic salutes of the infantry he usually dealt with. Nevertheless, Scott was still in charge. He had led entire divisions of forces against the JFA, but the question that remained to be seen was whether he could effectively lead a spec-ops group comprised of similarly skilled agents. There was only one way to find out, and no better time than now. Standing up and moving to the front of the room to face the rest of his team, he addressed them thus:

"Well, we should be hearing from Overwatch soon, but in the meantime we need to do something about... this." Scott gestured around the room with his hands, calling to attention the awkwardness that he knew they were well aware of. "It may be silly but we need to break the ice. The sooner we get to know each other the better off we'll be. Now, I hope you all remember me but in case you don't I'll go first. My name is Scott Riley, and I'm a former commander for the EMA's armed forces. Oh, that reminds me... you're past ranks mean nothing in this unit. Now, the chain of command is 'lowest number is in charge', which means I'm always in charge. Even if I'm not there. Don't get me wrong, there's no superiority complex going on here. If everyone does as I say then there won't be any problems, it's as simple as that. Beyond that, we are all equally important gears in this machine. You've each been selected for the same reason I have, so you already have my respect. Just try not to lose that respect."

After a short pause he realized that he had gone off topic. A short cough into his fist later and he retraced his steps. "Right then, I'm Sabre 02, my specialization is versatility in all fields of expertise, and I will be leading this team. I have a younger sister, both of my parents are dead and my brother died in the line of duty. I have no wife, nor will I ever if I stay here long enough to die first. I enjoy listening to music in my spare time, and my favorite color is red. I look forward to working with you." Pointing at the man who was sitting next to him in chair number 3, Scott declared, "You. Stand up, you're next."

"If you don't mind, Riley, I would like to speak next." The man seated in chair number eight rose and brushed his hair from his brow before stepping forward and pivoting towards his companions. He began to introduce himself without waiting for a response from Sabre02. "I'll have you know that I worked very hard for my doctorate, and will be referred to as such." He said to Riley. His determination turned to a smile as he twisted his torso towards the rest of the group."MY name is DOCTOR Cyprian Sigmund! You can all thank me for those little 'upgrades' Overwatch crammed into your bodies." He rose his fingers for air quotes, and let out a short laugh at the conclusion of his sentence. "Oh! And also for the specialized deployment suits that you will be receiving. Now then, I am Sabre zero-eight, and I will be serving as the brains for our team." He cracked a wide smile before pointing his finger out into the group. "Now, that doesn't mean I'll be sticking my nose into books all day, oh no no no. In addition to our deployments, I will be working tirelessly to improve our gear and other assets."

He placed his hands onto his hips with a satisfied "hmph," and looked around for a response.

The lieutenant commander had been sitting still and silent for what seemed an eternity when Commander Scott stood up and started talking. Rory admired the man, a good leader; a natural leader. Dad would like him, he thought absently. His attention snapped back as the Doctor who had worked with Rory over the past few months began speaking. Rory liked him too-the Doctor had given him weapons and abilities that far surpassed anything he might be able to achieve on his own. This is good for your career.., he could hear his dad telling him...

"Right, then." Rory stood up as both commander Scott and the Doctor finished there introductions. "So I know the Doctor here and we all know the Commander." Rory paused;suddenly self conscious about addressing the group. He was by no means slight, even in the thin military greys he was wearing now, but he was not accustomed to speaking to groups of people he did not know.

"I don't know any of you-I don't think I do anyways. But my name is Rory Phayne and I'm a heavy weapons specialist. That's it. No fancy tricks or bouncing around behind enemy lines. Just put me in front of something and I'll make it gone-No questions asked. When were in the thick of it you can count on me to back you up."

I could tell you how I'm career military and my family has been for generations-but I think that's probably the case for most of us-Uh that's it. I look forward to working with you all." Rory, visibly sweating now sat down awkwardly and waited patiently for the next introduction.

Seeing the trend forcing its way down the line, save for the doctor, Seth opted to get it over with. Once 03 finished his shpiel, Seth stood up, took off his hood and mask, and addressed the room, barely loud enough to fill the room with his voice, starting with an audible sigh. "Sabre-04. Seth Garron. Stealth-recon specialist. You have my dossier for further info." And with his introduction nothing less than short, precise, and included all the information needed, Seth sat back down in his relaxed posture.

Reviewing the other team members' introductions, the commander seemed to want this over with quickly as well. Could be dislike for this team or tension needing relief. Either way, the quiker these take place and end, the quicker we get to our new 'home'. What a waste of breath with personal information that we already have. But, when in Rome, do as they say.

The doctor seemed to want nothing more than recognition of his achievements. Bragging of at least one doctorate and having either overseen or created the augmentations and suits. Then there's 03, the Heavy. He seems to know a little about the previous two that had spoken. He seems like he'd do anything the commander says, regardless of morality or ethics. Interesting...

Saffron was more confused than ever about this new setup, chain of command was based on their assigned squad numbers? In that case Sgt Garron outranked SSgt Grayeson rather than the other way around, and all three sergeants out ranked Lt Indar. Worst of all a civilian outranked her. Unable to hold back any longer she quickly raised her hand and glanced down the line of chairs towards her new CO.

"I'm sorry to speak out of turn Sir, but could I just clarify the chain of command? You said 'lowest number is in charge', does that go for all ranks?" She was sure she was making herself sound stupid, and the others already knew of her previous history with command, but if she really was to be treated as the junior amongst them she was certainly not going to let them make her inconsequential.

Jax sat in silence as he normally did. His knife in hand he was spinning that blade around. Catching it in his hand as he spun around once more as he let rolling it on the back of his hand and then turning it catching it. Though as he did this he wasn't even watching it. His eyes focused on a spot on the table in front of him. He had read all the dossiers he was given on all of them. Looking through his memory was sharp, he watched them all as they sat in uncomfortable silence, well uncomfortable for the rest of them. For himself, and he figured 04, silence was a friend. Used to working in the field by them selves, days, weeks of silence. One wrong sound and you were dead. You learned to be a mouse, a mouse with very big weapons.

02 stood up and started to speak, speaking to the others about how they needed to break the ice. He was right they were a team, but Jax would have the least amount of interaction with them, in and off the the field. As a sniper you learned to keep a distance a certain distance from people, he was always looking at people though a Scope. Though as long as every one did their job Jax didn't see any problems. he would socialize with them, get to know them. He would always keep that distance from them. He watched as the Doc stood up, out of turn, and started to speak. He was boasting it seemed, which was something that Jax didn't understand. He wasn't new to the SPEC OPs community, he had spent most of his career in black ops. You didn't talk about it, you didn't boast. There was a certain respect about such things. Snipers never asked each other numbers, black ops never asked about Ops. Distance it all came down to distance.

Soon enough things were back on tract. 03 stood up and started speaking. Though all of this he kept playing with his knife as his facial expression never changing as he listened to him speak. He was very direct and to the point, Jax Liked that. The one thing he noticed was that he was the only one with a call sign. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. His tags, said "Ghost Reaper" none of his field uniforms had name tapes. More then just nicknames Call signs kept real names out of it, during black Ops it was something that helped keep them safe as there Unofficial names meant that linking the soldier to the person was harder.

04 was next, it was short and sweet just as Jax expected. Next would be 05, but there was another interruption 09 stood up asking about rank. He personally felt like she deserved her spot. He read her record, she was volatile, acted with out thinking. People like that got others killed, she had gotten people killed. In his Black Ops world she wouldn't of lasted. Her little outburst only helped cement his opinion of her in his mind though. He spun his blade and caught it his eyes kept on that spot on the table as he expression had still yet to change.

One by one the group introduced themselves. Somehow Scott knew that Dr. Sigmund would interject, that man almost couldn't get enough of himself. Arrogance can only take you so far in the social realm, but he knew that if he had even half of the qualifications the doctor had then he might be arrogant too. After the brief introduction, Sabre 03 Phayne stood up and did the same. The contrast was almost comical. Here was this hulking mountain of a man that could break several bones in each of our bodies if he really wanted to struggling to talk about himself. He was modest, and hard working. He would be a valuable asset to the team, as long as his empathy didn't cloud his judgement. Next in line was Sabre 04 Garron. Almost as if it was a contest, Garron made his introduction the shortest one yet. It is understandable that neither he nor Sabre 06 Orion would be much for talk, and Scott half expected them not to say anything at all since it was that hard just to interview them prior. Communication is a key component of any team however, and it was the leader's intent to make sure there were no obstacles preventing this. That includes during down time.

Then, all the way on the other side of the room, a marginally higher voice spoke up. Sabre 09 Bridges, arm raised and poised at attention, had asked a question. having already spoken to her before, Scott knew that socially there would be far fewer problems with her than there would be tactical problems. Hopefully after a few missions she would understand exactly what she had gotten into, and find her niche in the spec-ops environment. Answering her question, Scott replied, "I didn't mention anything about an ascending or descending order. I simply said 'lowest number is in charge'. I'm the lowest number, so I'm in charge. That's all there is to it. To put it another way, you are all on equal footing and take orders from me, unless I temporarily grant the power to give orders to someone to meet the circumstances." With a slight welcoming gesture of the hand, he continued, "Now, since we're having a conversation why don't you go next?" A faint smile formed across his face as he crossed his arms and waited for a response.

Saffron frowned, shaken with inner doubts over her CO's proclamation. She'd always worked within the standard operational protocols as part of her previous assignments and the idea of not having clear communication channels shook her up a little. What should the squad do in combat if Cmdr Riley went down without assigning a deputy, who would take charge?

Taking a deep breath she pushed her doubts aside. This was no time to raise such concerns, with the squad gathered together, at best it would make her seem argumentative and petty and at worse it may undermine the Commander's authority. Besides she'd just been given an order.

Jumping to her feet the Warrant Officer snapped off a salute to her CO before standing to attention and with her eyes focusing in the middle distance she began to speak. "Warrant Officer class one Saffron Bridges reporting for duty, Sir." She began, unsure exactly what the team would need to hear that hadn't been included in her file, "Specialist training in close combat and tactical planning, Sir."

Having completed her breakdown Saffron fell silent, still standing to attention as she awaited a response.

Still smiling, Scott spoke to Saffron. "That's good and all, but why don't you share something about yourself? You know, so we believe you're a real person and not an android. It doesn't have to be big or interesting, just something small to break the mold. Also, don't use your former rank unless you are specifically stating that you are no longer that rank. You're a Sabre now, not a Warrant Officer."

Scott was starting to have fun with this. The more awkward he made them feel now, the less there would be to deal with later.

This man was really beginning to confuse Saffron, he wasn't anything like the commanding officers she'd dealt with in the past, and she wasn't sure exactly what she should do about that.

His comment about just being a Sabre now helped clarify things, in a way they were all just Privates now, equal and expendable. Only now Saffron began to wonder how they fitted into the wider military command structure. Were they a special division, like the Airbourne Cavalry, or simply support reserves?

Once again she tabled her questions for later and instead concentrated on the matter at hand. "To be frank Sir, I'm not a 'real person', I'm a soldier." She replied, her voice clipped and precise, "but if you really need to know more than I suppose I could just say that I'm quite a good cook."

"Oh, don't say that," Cyprian interjected once again, still standing from his last speech. "Each one of us is the best there is in what we do. The very reason you're here is because of your unique skills. That's only something a 'real person' could pull-off." He swung his finger in a swiping motion to point at everyone in the room quickly. "That goes for all of you. I may be a cocky bastard, but I am very confident in all of you, and you can be sure that I will do my best to keep you all alive. I certainly hope that each of you feel the same way..." His finger dropped as his expression turned very serious. "The eight of us were hand picked out of millions of people. Our missions will not be easy, and 'normal' soldiers would most certainly die if they had to do what we will be doing. So keep your chins up, your minds clear, and shake off the antisocial tendencies. The seven people you see in this room will be your family for quite some time."

At the resolution of his rant, Cyprian sat on the table that had each Sabre's papers on them, pushing sheets out of his way as he sat down. He crossed his arms and examined his companions.

Realising that she'd been dismissed, or as close to being dismissed as she was likely to get in this loose-knit outfit, Saffron dropped back down into her seat. She was glad to get off her feet, the pain in her back from the surgery she'd undergone less than a week before was still causing her some difficulties, despite her excellent physical health otherwise.

Taking a moment to stretch her knees and arch her spine, Saffron quickly dropped back into her seated attention, enduring the discomfort she was feeling as she look up at the CO. It was quite an inspiring little speech, and she recognised it from one of the many she'd been taught back at the Academy.

Hopefully this would all be over soon and they could get on with whatever it was the lucky eight had been selected for.

Family... The word seemed alien to Seth. The man using the word talked of "antisocial behavior", which wasn't the case. Is there a problem with not seeing the point in talking? I'm just not used to needing a voice. I'm a soldier. A number. No matter what this commander says. I will have my assignment. I do it, and I get out. No need to talk, except for updating the handler or remote base about my situation. Why is that so hard? Seth took some mental notes about the others:

- The sixth chair's owner has yet to speak, change his line of sight, or look at anyone. Seemed like-minded about talking.
- Commander is trying to force everyone to talk, maybe even to the point of forcing awkwarness. Check back on his motivations.
- 09, Bridges, is concerned about chain of command. And looks attractive.
- The Mad Doctor is overqualified in intellect, yet seems to lack physical qualifications. He is supposed to be tagging along in missions, presumedly.

Seth stifles a sigh. Great. We're a rag-tag group of qualified soldiers. We sound like the start of some war video game...

Jax kept playing with his Knife. He was less rigid then the rest as even though he never looked he saw everything. Things were less formal in Spec ops, chain of command less clear. They didn't answer to a unit but usually higher. In truth Jax never knew who gave him missions, just a mission would come down,there squad leader would brief and they were off. Occasionally they would be approached as individuals and giving missions. Jax him self having to do this several times. Every one was speaking, talking about this and that. 09 was talking bout how she was a soldier and not a "real person". She almost sounded like she came right out of boot. The doctor was talking next as it was getting obvious who the personalities in the group was. There was always a few, people who stood out more then others. Jax him self never much saw a problem with this, it simply wasn't him.

As a moment of silence fell over he kept playing with his knife. He would let the others keep carrying on, this briefing wasn't going to until every one was finished saying there piece and Jax was a very patient person. He decided to take this moment to let speak so they weren't waiting on him. Catching his knife he stopped playing with it for a bit "Sabre 06, Jax Orion. Call sign Ghost Reaper, Sniper" he spoke very straight forward and deliberate, just loud enough for those in the room to hear him.

Saf smiled to herself as she heard Sgt Orion's introduction. He reminder her of other snipers she'd worked with in the past, the successful ones at least. It took a certain mindset to be able to sit in place, sometimes for days at a time, waiting for that perfect moment to take the shot and Sgt Orion seemed to fit the model perfectly. He'd be a good asset for the team.

It took a moment for Saf to realise she was still making the same mistake in her thinking, calling her colleagues by their old ranks. She'd have to learn to call them Sabres, was she was too.

The corner of Seth's mouth moved up when he heard 06's intro. His suspicion of the like-mindedness on talking was confirmed. Only speaking when necessary and only what is necessary. The sniper chose his moment to speak as he probably chose when to shoot, using nothing less than the perfect timing. There was sizable silence before he spoke, then silence fell again afterwards. Sweet silence. It's the only time I can truly think to myself. This is nice, even though they're making their own tension at this point, it's interestng to see how they do with social tension.
Heavy, 03, seems to... enjoy it? It's not like we're awaiting deployment to shoot down dozens of foreigners or federal enemies. Seth's focus on 03's reaction unintentionally forced his face into what would appear to be a scowl or glare. It's simply Seth's anylitical face, but it has before been seen as a glare or, in more common terms, a bitch face.
Regardless, Seth still identifies with 06 closest since they both have a liking to silence unless it's absolutely necessary to speak. In recon training, Seth learned to only speak in whispers at most, and that's only if he needed to relay information to his handler that couldn't be given through other means of communication to the observing recon team. Since he spent a few years in the recon "business", Seth learned to keep quiet. It may also have to do with not having used his creative half of his brain since elementary school, but that has yet to be proven. Well, to a definitive point. It's been theorized by all the psychologists he's been examined by, but there's no concrete evidence. Yet.