---

Re: Retra Onboarding
From: Retra Corp. Outreach <recruitment@retra.com>


Greetings Operator,

You have been selected to attend the finalization process in potentially employing yourself under the position of Entry Global Operator. We would like you to meet with us and your potential new teammates to undergo a final in-practice interview aboard the Vindsvalr. There we will assess your compatibility with all seven other candidates, to ensure that your skills are not only good enough to reach this far in the process, but good with those who will share your position. The examination will be quick, but deliberation may take some time, and so we welcome you to stay in our visitor suites onboard while you wait. All accommodations will be provided, regardless of your immediate results in the examination.

Please ensure your timely arrival at one of several aeroports, according to your location at the time of receiving this email. We unfortunately cannot provide for transportation to these points, but can reimburse you for any travel expenses. Attached is the departing schedules of our airliners at each location. Expediency and timeliness is key; transportation to and from the Vindsvalr is sparse and costly. Missing your flight will result in immediate dismissal from candidacy.

We look forward to seeing you aboard the Vindsvalr.

Regards,
Retra Outreach

---

The noise was incredible aboard the airliner. It was obvious what to expect once all of the operators boarding the airship were handed thick headphones and oxygen masks, but even then it was somewhat off-putting. The cargo jet was "built for toughness" rather than comfort, apparently owing to its need to dock mid-flight with a massive flying headquarters. The stressors involved in the maneuver necessitated a sturdy hull, to say nothing of its odd aerodynamic design. Approaching the Vindsvalr from behind its windbreak presented a unique problem that Retra engineers managed to solve, but at the cost of a fancy flight. But what did it matter? They were operators, after all, and comfort wasn't exactly part of that kind of life.

Those operators who had departed from the Eastern continent themselves were subjected to an earlier flight to bring them to Columbia first, albeit on a much more normal commercial jet. Still, they no doubt had the worst of it. Jet lag, boredom -but now they were at least in familiar company, sitting beside and opposite their potential new team.

Numerous seats lined both sides of the cargo bay, and in each one was strapped an operator clad in headphone and breathing mask. Microphones allowed them to communicate with a slight buzz to their words. They were open mics, and so all that was said was privy to the rest of the team. One would be cautious not to make enemies under their breath from the get go.

Further down the cargo bay, it appeared that their flight was clearly not wasting any resources on simply moving eight bodies. Massive boxes on pallets, strapped down to the anchors lining the metal floor, creaked and swayed slightly underneath tarps as the ship rose and bumped along turbulent winds. Small window ports sat at head-level between each seat, offering a slim view into the blue sky outside. Occasionally, one might have caught the blinding strike of a fighter jet past the cargo ship, followed by the distinct crack of its ludicrous speed.

They had all only just met on board there, and the silence of that unusual situation had yet to be broken until one of them spoke up. There were nine of them in all. Both bright and dour-faced potentials that were nameless to one another, but would soon have to make it work no matter what. The one who spoke up was one of the more vibrant faces of the group, a Kuranta woman who looked to be approaching her thirties in age, with a pleasant smile even more striking than her red hair.

"So, what's everyones' names?" she piped up with a friendly demeanor that carried through the microphone, "Might as well get a head start on getting our team to work well, right? I'll start!" she said, raising a hand that had been gripping one of her seat straps until then.

"Codename Chariot. I'm from Columbia, though my old pop came from Kazimierz. I'm good with, hmm..." she hummed, thinking, "Charging right into the enemy I suppose. I've got some medical experience too, but I'm sure some of you are way better at that than me. And... just so everything's out on the table, I'm also infected. I hope we can all get along swell!" she finished with another beaming smile.

The jet rumbled a bit. More turbulence.

Unsurprisingly, the seating was rather spartan for side wall seats that were meant to go up and down for various configurations of the airship. With plenty of leg room to stretch though, Ulezan had somehow managed to fall asleep in a rather awkward position as he stuck an arm through the mesh backing of the seats to keep himself from lolling about as the aircraft maneuvered. Thankfully, the others were spared whatever sleeping sounds he might have made as the open mic in his mask was somehow covered.

Stirring slightly as someone spoke up amongst them though, he didn't seem to fully wake up until Chariot was actually introducing herself. Untangling his arm from the mesh and removing his mask, he blinked a few times while rubbing at his face before yawning. Pausing as he attempted to take a breath afterwards, he looked down at his mask and replaced it before tightening down the straps. There was the faint sound of him blowing on the mic as if attempting to clear it before he looked around at the others and raised a hand as well.

"Yoh. Codename Vlad or first name Ulezan, use whichever one you feel more comfortable with. I suppose I'd be the one Chariot there falls back to if things get a bit too dicey. Bit slower than most of you I reckon, but I can take a beating and patch up anyone that gets hurt. Personally I'm not Infected, but I've probably worked with more of them than not by now. Spent five with BSW a few years ago. Did some charity with the Confessers way before that. Lookin' forward to working with all of you." While it wasn't as bright as the redhead's own, he had a slight smile as he finished.

"You're leaving again, sis? It's only been a few days."
A whole mob of tiny voices echoed the boy's dismay. Every eye present followed the mass of her plate carrier as she threw it onto the ground, a great whompf and a cloud of dust being the best shake clean the device was going to get. Her coat followed, blazing orange and covered in the devices of her trade. At least, what you could walk out the door and onto the next job with. First aid kid, compass, multitool, a generous assortment of glowsticks, the simple things that saved people. Farida Marchand knelt beside the heap, gingerly going from pouch to pouch, tapping, unzipping, unbuckling and reseting every single one of them. While they whined and fussed she ran down the list in her head. The email had used a few words but one of them had been examination. There wasn't much that she could bring but however she could, she would arrive prepared. Her tomahawk, its skeletal head buried in the polymer of a drop sheath, fell in. At worst, that itself was part of the test. At best, she was saving her comrades-to-be some time.
The sun was beginning to rise, the orange glow of the horizon casting long shadows from the gaggle, nine in all, watching her pack in the driveway. She turned her eyes on them. Her family, some of them by blood, most just adopted along. Her elders had already said their goodbyes, made peace with the fact that she wanted to do this all over again. Ears shivering in the unpleasant morning, tails taut with anxiety. She zipped the duffel closed on her kit. Truth was, she'd known since before she'd came back. The email had come during the process of her withdrawal from Penguin. Her five years were up, and looking back she had more pride than regrets. Round two.

"Sure am. Sorry..." Farida breathed out.
"Sargon again?" She shook her head. "Kazdale?" Another cut in. "All she's gonna say is 'a penguin never tells.'"
"Not for Penguin, not today." Mule stood up, heaving the duffle into the bed of the truck beside her and next to the backpack full of travel goods. "Still don't know, though." She grinned, and a few groaned. "They say it's like a big, flying castle and they go all around the world helping the people who need it, need it way more than us. So I'll be doing that for a little while. Might even be able to send more stuff back than the job before, yeah?"

But that thought wasn't worth anything. Maybe while she'd been off globetrotting they'd grown out of the idea that a corporate mercenary could do anything good for the world. That was worth something: a cold, gnawing nervousness. "Now run back inside before you catch cold. I'm not getting in trouble because you didn't think a goodbye dinner was enough!" They watched as she yanked open the door on her old ride. Poor thing, it'd been a fun week tooling around after five years playing the minor leagues. Now it was going to get left sitting at an airport until someone could come and get it again. The engine shivered until it could burn, the ancient device lurching forward before she spiked it into reverse. One wave to the family, a jerky turn, and she was a dust cloud rising into the distance. She'd have a long drive to think about that lie.

---

One rumble had bled into another. Jet engines, spooling for takeoff. She'd been passed some cans and a mask. There was a little tingle of excitement to that. Most of Penguin's clients might have preferred to see the world from the soundproofed cabin of a fancy aircraft, but this was how they got around, what they trained in: Cold steel, mesh seats, and a few tons of barely strapped in machinery (usually the helicopter the client demanded folded up and tied down) or supplies ready to scare you lifeless when the turbulence hit and it listed like it was coming down. She pulled them on over her cap, ears adjusting to the filtered sound. The face of a microphone caught her eye as she slipped on the mask, a hand traveling up her cable to find the PTT and instead finding nothing. Civilian, so it wasn't going to break any time soon. Backpack in her lap, duffel at her feet, and a fist clenched around the handle on both of them, Mule became a statue as they climbed up into the sky. She helped herself not to stare at the other candidates, head cast towards the metal floor as she slipped into waiting.

A voice came through the intercom. And clear, too. Mule's head shot up, eyes panning for the speaker and hooking onto the helpfully raised hand as she introduced herself. Mule had been about to give it a go herself until she saw the big guy that had been sleeping peacefully, and with enviable technique at that, tear his mask off. Her eyes widened as she thought she was watching their first malfunction take place but there didn't seem to be anything wrong with his tube as he reconnected. Another raised hand, another introduction, crisis delayed. The second group member to profess a medical affinity. She smiled under her mask, there were few mercenaries crazy enough not to enjoy the direct proximity of medics. The rest of these guys could be the craziest Black Steel body pilers money could buy or a bunch of choir girls, they had doctors, and that meant they had a safety net to learn this whole teamwork thing. Spirits high, she raised her hand next.

"Codename Mule, reporting. I did security and surveillance details for Penguin for five years, most of that under night-vision. Shield bearer when it got hot. I don't mind if you're infected or not, we're a team and I've got your back. Same goes for all of you, you can count on me. Over." Mule's hands came down, both the one that had been signaling and the one that had been habitually thumbing her oxygen tube. Oh, right.

Thrones was glad for the noise. Kept her occupied well enough; between the book and the roar of the aircraft, there was little space in her head to entertain the auditory hallucinations that crept into her skull. It had been a week since she was discharged, transferred to Retra Corp as part of an agreement the Legatus Legionis and the corporation’s CEO, and the Sankta caster couldn’t wait to be out on the field again. Sleep had eluded her during the past week, and if there was one thing she could pray for, it would be for the examination to be intense enough to placate her before she began active duty proper as an Entry Global Operator.

For now though, Thrones was reading. The past couple of hours saw whispered fragments of a melodramatic romance novella passing through comms as the Sankta tapped along, apparently unbothered by the uncomfortable environments. A year in the Exercitus Laterano hadn’t been enough to completely stamp out that bookworm softness of hers, and Thrones certainly would have preferred a nice, comfy chair by a warm fireplace to mesh seats in a cargo hold, but sexually frustrated fiction didn’t require much attention at all. The forbidden love of a Durin princess and an Ursus farmhand, after all, only required 30% of her focus to be entertaining.

Soon enough, however, she couldn’t even spare 30% of her attention on her book. As a red-haired Kuranta brought up the idea of introductions, Thrones closed her reader, laying it on her lap as people began speaking up. Chariot, Vlad, and Mule, was it? She nodded slightly; more distractions to keep her occupied was always appreciated, and it was probably a good idea to get to know potential squadmates better. Coughing gently into the mic to indicate her ‘turn’, Thrones said, in a soft, lilting voice, “Call me Thrones. Spent a year or so in the Exercitus Laterano, and I was a literature student before then, so if you’d like any book recommendations, feel free to ask.”

The white-haired woman paused momentarily, adjusting the sleeves of her jacket. “As for my capabilities…my Arts will take care of the drones and Big Bobs we come across, so long as you keep me covered, Mule.”

When she arrived at the airfield Strix was carrying a lightly packed backpack and a duffel bag that looked like it was ready to burst open. She made sure the duffel bag was secure beneath her seat and held her backpack clutched to her chest. She muttered incoherently to herself while looking around at the other operators at the beginning of the flight before falling asleep amidst the turbulence. She went in and out of sleep throughout the flight, her head drooping to one side or the other. When voices started coming through the headphones from the other operators Strix began to stir from her sleepy state, blinking and looking around. At Chariot's mention of being infected, Strix looked down and zoned out while the others were introducing themselves. She thought to herself, Should I also mention it...? and massaged her thigh.

At a lull in the conversation she snapped out of it and piped up, "Huh? Oh. Right. Operator Strix here. Pleased to make your acquaintances." She paused for a moment, feeling with her feet to make sure the duffel bag was still there before continuing, "I excel at long range combat, and worked for 7... no 8 years with Karlan Commercial Company. Fine enough work." Strix nodded to Vlad and Mule, "I'll be counting on you two for the front, and I'll watch your backs."

As she finished her introduction, Strix closed her eyes and her voice could be heard quietly muttering the names of the other operators to herself as the rest of the introductions carried on.

A shitty commercial flight, jet lag, followed by a loud, bumpy flight on a cargo jet to their actual op destination? So far, life in the private sector seemed just the same as a government military. Fortunately, Dragoon had long since been conditioned to fall asleep no matter her comfort level. You got your rest wherever you could when you were in the military, crap flight be damned.

A short nap later, and it seemed she'd woken up just in time for introductions. The black-haired Lung woman yawned into her oxygen mask slightly, rubbing her eyes before paying close attention to those who spoke. After all, if all went well, she'd be working with them for the forseeable future. Years of cultural conditioning gave her a slight pause at the prospect of working with the Infected, but in all honesty, anyone who worked in their field knew the risks and that it could happen to them. It was just something she'd have to deal with.

By the time it came to her turn, the woman raised a hand, giving a cheeky wave as a greeting. "Yo, yo. Callsign Dragoon. Let's see, personal details...I'm ex-Lungmen Defense Force, OR-6, so yeah, government military drone. Specialized as a shock trooper and point man. I'm good with either a spear or my fists. Let's have some fun with this, yeah?" She finished with a grin, leaning back in her seat.

Mercenaries typically didn't expect to be provided for comfort, this much Feral understood. But that fact did not make being cramped up in the back of a cargo plane like a bunch of palettes any more comfortable for the fledgling operator. The Lupo wasn't particularly fond of flying—a questionable fact, when one considered the location of Retra's base—and it surely showed. While other, more veteran soldiers-of-comfort busied themselves with naps and leisurely reading, Feral anxiously toyed with with the sword she had boarded with, tracing the patterns carved into its guard with thin fingers. The mixture of boredom and subtle tension in her stomach that flared every time a fighter craft boomed past the vessel and set it to rattling had begun to get to her by the time Chariot spoke up.

Somber amber eyes drifted from one end of the hold to another, putting voices to faces as best she could based on gesture; they were all wearing masks, after all. She had never been very good at the social aspects of this work, and rather than speak up immediately, she mulled over how exactly to introduce herself. At this rate, the flight to the base and the worry of making a good first impression had frazzled her nerves more than any additional examination could ever do. That part of this work she knew she was good at, at least.

A brief lull following the introduction of a rather personable Lung provided an adequate opportunity to make her own, and she seized on the opening with no lack of trepidation.

"My callsign is Feral. I specialize in close-range target removal," She quietly articulated, as was her way. A few seconds and an awkward shuffle followed before she continued, not content with her initial brevity. "This is my first year on the job."

"We're from all over the place, it seems," Chariot nodded, gripping the polyester belts over her torso. Her head turned to each as she repeated their names, clearly trying to cement them down immediately. "Vlad. Mule. Thrones. Strix. Dragoon. Feral. Pavan." Chariot nodded again with a smile, confident that she had them all straight.

"I was worried we might end up too focused on any one role, but I guess Retra knows what it's doing," she said. There were a few moments of reprieve from the turbulence, before it came back with a vengeance. The operators were practically bouncing a half-inch off of their seats as the jet rumbled. A red light washed over the cargo bay, accompanied by a gently-toned but loud ding. Their earphones burst to life with a crackling voice unfamiliar to them. It became quickly clear it was their pilot.

"Hold on tight now," he began, "Might want to flex yourself to push back into the seat. Things are about to get real' bumpy." Sure enough, the shaking in the jet had become downright terrifying. The crates and loose metal pieces all around the cargo hold were clanging and jumping, sliding and scratching. Outside they could hear a ghoulish howling of the wind, accompanied by a heart-shaking rumble of some massive engine. The red light turned into a rotating double-beam warning signal, washing red light over the operators cyclically. A harsh alarm sounded for five seconds, then went silent.

Were the operators to angle their heads aside to the small window ports, they would see the reason for their hellish ride. To both sides of the cargo jet, a city in the sky drifted at speeds only just under their own, growing closer and closer to the nose of the plane. Massive, skyscraper-sized jets spat out blue flame that carried the city aloft, and all about it were other flying objects, like sparkling white fish trailing beside the lazy wanderings of a whale.

The cargo jet drifted in closer until one of the walls of the Vindsvalr seemed as if mere yards away from their wingtips. Though the jet rumbled terribly, it kept a steady course until the massive rows of Vindsvalr's wings were below the jet itself. Slowly it approached a circular platform in the middle of the long stretch. Claw-like machines unfurled, prepared to receive the cargo plane.

The alarm blared to life again, persisting as the howling began to die down, and suddenly there was one last huge shaking in the plane, followed by a sharp acceleration that lasted but a moment. The plane no longer shook, but the wind still howled. Chariot released her sweaty-palmed grip from her seat belts and her jaw relaxed. She blinked a few times and let out a sigh of relief.

"Gonna need a restroom soon, am I right?" she said with a chuckle that was cut abruptly short. The plane bumped once, followed by loud mechanical whirring. The plane was descending straight down, the wings of the Vindsvalr rapidly ascending past their windows. The light of the sun outside darkened, replaced by artificial lights in a dark, industrial scene. It appeared as though their jet was being lowered by elevator into the Vindsvalr itself. Outside their windows was a massive hangar, though given the size of the cargo jet, appeared suited for them and them alone. A great number of people stood waiting at the hangar floor. Color-coded jumpsuits and small flashing vehicles for transporting cargo encircled the cargo jet as they descended.

The elevator came to a halt, sinking into a perfectly-sized cutout in the floor. One last alarm signaled the opening of the jet's cargo bay, and the ramp at the back lowered slowly.

"You're free to unbuckle," said the pilot, "Make it quick getting out, and stick to the walls." The cargo ramp hit the floor with a clang, and immediately workers began to rush inside to get rid of the cargo, wholly ignoring the operators as they made their way down. At the base of the ramp stood an attentive young woman with a long, blonde braid. She wore a composed, smiling expression, and kept one of her hands hovering over what appeared to be a PDA. As soon as one of the operators made it down to the floor, she started counting them with a pointing finger held close to her chest, mouthing each number silently.

"That's all of you! Welcome, welcome, new operators!" she said, "Have all your things? We'll be heading straight for the simulation. It should all be booted up by now. My name is Diver, if you remember our correspondence together! I'll be taking you through the process today, so if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. I know this might all seem very brisk and to the point, but we just want to get the onboarding stuff out of the way as soon as possible. Already we're itching to put you all into some real action," Diver explained.

"I know you all must be tired, but we unfortunately need to get this final examination done A.S.A.P! Any one need some coffee? Something to eat?"

"Hrm." It was a bit surprising to hear that some of the others barely had any experience, but then again lives could be rather harsh. A year or two of work did not mean someone had not been fighting or surviving for many before that, and hopefully that could translate over to working in a team environment. With the varying levels of enthusiasm and tones coming through with each individual introduction though, it seemed that this was a rather colorful group of individuals.

Waving to acknowledge Strix's nod, Vlad glanced towards Mule before saying, "Shame ya don't have someone else to split duties with. Between Mule and I here, I think we'll have no problem shielding the si-" Cut off as he bounced in his seat thanks to the sudden spike of turbulence, he grumbled a bit as he rubbed his head from where it had smacked into one of the stanchions currently hanging off the walls. As expected of an aircraft outside the civilian market, it was designed in some rather annoying ways.

While he couldn't say he had ever experienced a flight this bad before, Vlad wasn't unused to situations that were just as chaotic. So as he craned his head just slightly and whistled at the impressive sight of their new base of operations and home, Vlad spared a glance around at the other Operators to see how they were coping with the tumultuous arrival. Despite the cacophony of noise, he nonetheless still found the voice to try and strike up a conversation.

"OR-6 in the Lungmen Guard? How the heck did they let ya go? Last I heard, they were hurtin' for people," Vlad spoke up as he raised an eyebrow at Dragoon. Wincing a bit as the alarm came on again with a piercing wail, he yanked the mask off once the plane started to drop into the Vindsvalr itself and took a deep breath. Rubbing at the slight indentation made by the wearing the mask, he chuckled briefly and replied to Chariot. "Well, no one needed a barf bag at the least. Would've made for a bad first impression."

Unstrapping from his seat the moment the plane had settled down, Vlad grabbed his belongings as he stood. Seated near the front of the cargo compartment, he looked between his fellow Operators and waited for the rest of them to exit the plane before he would leave last.

Certainly some variance in experience, wasn't there? Thrones herself had gotten in due to a deal between her superiors and the CEO of Retra Corp, and she was fairly certain she would have been considered lacking in experience otherwise, but to think that there were a selection of other relative rookies...curious.

Then again, maybe not so curious, seeing how they still had a final examination to go through before being officially accepted. Nodding at the others who had introduced themselves as the call signs they dropped were already melting away from her mind, the Sankta leaned back into her seat as tremors began shaking the aircraft. Outside, the roar of another, greater engine sounded, and through her sliver of sky, Thrones could see but a portion of the citadel in the sky, a sight that grew more impressive as they got closer and closer. Worthy of a story, for sure. Must have burnt up a blue whale's worth of Originium as well, maintaining those altitudes and speeds, but a megacorporation could afford it, no doubt.

Wouldn't be dealing on a national level otherwise.

Tensing up as docking procedures continued, Thrones squeezed her reader between her thighs and kept her hands gripping the mesh of her seat. Even then though, it felt like she was barely sitting down at all, and she frowned. Air travel was fine, but landing and takeoff were never things she could grow accustom to, especially when they were technically landing in the air. Still, she wasn't sweating, and she didn't feel sick. Definitely wasn't going to be her that needed the barf bag. She unclipped herself and made her way down to where the operator-candidates were converging, her duffel bag carried on her shoulder. Wings made it a bother to wear backpacks, after all; the Exercitus Laterano issued specialized 'frontpacks'...but those were also a bother to wear.

When the topic of food was brought up, Thrones was the first to address the blond Mustelid. "A couple Danishes would be nice. And some smoked bacon."

Dragoon let out an awkward chuckle at Vlad's questioning, internally alarmed. Shit. She really should have thought this out better. Hopefully, as long as she played it off, he wouldn't dig deeper. This really wasn't a conversation she wanted to have in a first meeting.

"Yeah, well, it was a bitch and a half. Had to train up my replacement in the squad first." There. Nothing he could actually confirm for himself. Now hopefully he wouldn't think too hard about it.

Though the amount of rookies in the prospective squad was intriguing. She wouldn't have thought they'd actually accept this many people with relatively little experience. Retra's recruitment selection must have been less stringent than she thought.

The subsequent turbulence was an absolute bitch, even for a veteran operator, but the view of the airship afterwards was spectacular enough to almost make up for it. Almost. Still, she hoped it was as impressive on the inside as it was on the outside. When the order to undock came, Dragoon did so gladly, taking only a backpack and her spear from the cargo compartment. After being military for literally all of her adult life so far, it came as little surprise she didn't have many personal effects. Whatever she actually needed, she could probably order online after her first paycheck came in.

The mention of food as they exited the plane was more than appealing, though. She'd only packed a couple Lungmen Guard-issue MREs in her pack for emergencies. And god damn, did she mean emergencies. Those things were indescribably bad and an insult to Lungmen cuisine in general.

"Same for me," Dragoon piped up after Thrones had spoken. "And coffee'd be great."

As the rest of the operators finished their introductions Strix relaxed more in her seat. She started to perk up and looked to Vlad as he spoke, but before she could respond the plane's shaking intensified causing her to clutch her bag tightly and clench her eyes and jaw shut. The turbulence from the landing was unlike anything she had experienced before. When she heard crates starting to move about her eyes shot open, and she looked down and tested with her legs to make sure her stowed duffel bag was where she left it. Knowing it was safe, she untensed for a moment before more alarms and turbulence caused her to stiffen up again.

When the plane finally began to descend into the depths of the Vindsvalr, Strix started to relax with a sigh. She said, "Unpleasant doesn't even begin-" and she was cut off by a final alarm and jostle from the elevators halt. She finished her thought, unhooking her mask and tilting her head from side to side, "-to describe. Not looking forward to doing this again." She unbuckled and stretched, waiting for some other operators to start moving before she grabbed her bags and disembarked.

Strix took in the massive hangar and the number of people bustling around, and she got distracted trying to figure out what all the different color coded jumpsuits meant. At the mention of the combat simulation she brought herself back and thought, Retra doesn't seem to waste any time. We'll know soon enough if everyone is up to speed.

She chimed in after Dragoon, "Yes. Coffee please. Lots of milk and sugar." She turned her attention to Diver, gesturing to the cargo plane "How often are we going to need to do... that? And who can I give my bag to for safe keeping? I assume we won't get a chance to stop by the dorms on our way to the examination."

It was like no landing she'd ever endured before, at least in the details. The procedure was the same, though familiarity was a mixed bag of comforts when it could also be said it reminded her more of a crash drill than an actual reception. At least the plane started shaking first. Her fist tensed to whitening around the strap of her duffel, though Mule kept her gaze as steely as circumstances permitted and planted firmly on the checked pattern of the metal floor. Only that last jump, as the cargo loads whined slightly in their restraints and shifted heavily under the final jolt did her head come up, taking a quick set of looks around the cabin to make sure it was in one piece, and again as they began to descend. She couldn't join the others in commenting on just how bad the ride in had been, if only for the low feeling that her voice would have come out rather weakly after all the excitement at the very end of the ride.

But it was over. The harness and mask clicked off, her bags both came up in her arms, and Mule was making her way down the ramp as soon as the operator to her in-side had successfully stood out of retention and started the walk down the ramp. Her first few steps were unsteady after so long bolted to the side of the angry aircraft. Part of her wondered how much if at all she was going to notice the unsteadiness of the flying ground beneath her feet. The initial impression was quite pleasing, stepping into the organized chaos outside as workers continued to strip the plane behind them of every valuable it had carried with it. If you didn't account for the staggering difference in scale, budget, and altitude it ran like any bustling aerodrome should have.

Mule joined the cluster of operators steadily growing around their greeter, holding her prolonged silence as most people took on her offer of breakfast. It was a subtly sobering thought to know that most of her colleagues had set out on the journey from far enough away that breakfast this morning hadn't been an available option. That was far braver than she was, she reflected with a small smile.

After Strix was done with her question, she joined by throwing one of her own at Diver. "Good morning, Diver. Can't say no to some coffee! But, if you don't mind me asking, what manner of simulation are we running off to?" A completely different waver took hold of her voice once she was off of radio discipline. "If our things are needed I suppose I can at least suit up while we're doing food."

It was a bit foolish for Feral to assume nobody would try striking up a conversation after she went out of her way to extend her introduction, but assume she had. When the young Sankta across the cargo hold inquired as to how her first year had been going, she spent a moment chewing on her lower lip, mulling over the words she could use to explain her drifter-like status without appearing unreliable. Perhaps it would have been better if she had not, for not a second later did the vessel they inhabited began to somehow shake even more violently than it had before. The turbulent thrashing that followed was scarcely worth the time it had bought her, especially when the jostling had nearly caused her to take a chunk out of the lip she had been gnawing in contemplation.

More veteran members of their group may have had the fortitude and experience to marvel at the modern wonder that their vessel hurtled so boldly towards, but Feral did not. While her fellows peered out foggy glass windows to appreciate their new home in the sky, the Lupo kept her amber gaze locked firmly on the floor of the cargo plane, as if somehow it would anchor her through the incredibly bumping ride. With her arms and legs locked firmly around the lengthy blade she had brought along for the ride, Feral remained stationary and silent all the way through the docking procedure and the long elevator ride inside Vindsvalr. Only the loud clank of the departure ramp stirred her from her stupor, and she managed to hike herself up onto shaky legs using the scabbard of her blade as a balance point.

Hobbling out of the transport on the heel of the majority of others, Feral spent the following few moments ensuring the contents of her stomach stayed put—a task not so easily accomplished, with her team mates eagerly discussing breakfast options—before she finally made good on a long overdue obligation.

"Not s'good." She muttered, turning her head just a tad towards the blonde Sankta to indication she had finally answered Paval.

As they proceeded apace, the group quickly descended into the narrower bowels of the Vindsvalr, tight corridors encircling them. There were a number of other employees moving about, many of them dressed in lab coats that spoke to the amount of research occurring aboard the vessel. Diver busily tapped away at her PDA as they walked. She walked, dodged employees, and spoke to group promptly all without missing a beat. She was clearly an experienced multi-tasker.

"I don't know if I can help you to some smoked bacon," she hummed to Thrones, "But I can procure some danishes." Diver tapped and swiped and swiveled on her heels, never breaking pace as she began to walk backwards. "Coffee and danishes. A good combo! Coming right up. And to answer your question... Strix!" she exclaimed, briefly digging into her memory to pull out the Operator's name, "You don't need to worry about your things. While you're in the simulation, I'll have someone move your belongings to where you'll be sleeping," she explained. A small aerial drone buzzed past the group just above head level, carrying underneath it a cardboard box.

"As for how often you'll have to do that boarding sequence... Well..." she shrugged and tilted her head, "I'm afraid it'll be somewhat often given the global nature of our intended operations. But you'll get used to it! It's perfectly safe just... loud and bumpy!" she said cheerily. The hallway brightened as a long stretch of thick glass windows appeared alongside the path. They looked out into the sky at the rear of the Vindsvalr, offering a much better view of the massive ship. No matter how long the hallway was that they walked along, the great engines outside never seemed to get any closer.

"The simulation will be a test of you combat abilities and teamwork. It won't be an especially complex mission, but it will test you nevertheless. I daresay you'd best prepare not even to succeed! But don't worry; we're just seeking to evaluate you at your best," Diver explained. They made it after several minutes to a closed steel door, and after a couple inputs into the keypad at its side, it slid open and revealed a moderately-sized room with numerous computers spread about. "Experimental" described the contents of it all succinctly. Haphazard cables and half-built electronics sat around or leaned against the wall. Only the dozen-odd human-sized capsules attached to the walls seemed wholly completed. Two scientists looked up from their laptops, both sitting in small lawnchairs and side-by-side. A man and woman of similar age in labcoats were busy tapping rapidly at the laptops, stopping abruptly at the group's entrance.

"Go ahead and leave your bags along the wall by the door," Diver said, stepping aside. "And whenever you're all suited up, go ahead and step into one of those capsules." A drone came to a sudden halt in the hallway outside, carrying a tiered rack of cupholders, and a cardboard box at the very bottom.

"Delivery for Miss Diver!" it said in an effeminate artificial voice. Diver gestured to the dutiful aerial bot, offering up the free coffee and sweets to anyone hungry, thirsty, or plain tired. As the Operators filled their bellies, prepped their attire and equipment, and all saddled themselves in the bedded capsules, Diver turned to the scientists, and after exchanging some hushed words, seemed finally prepared to send them off into their first "mission".

Glass covers hissed down to enclose the capsules, and after a few more seconds, the Operators found their eyes fluttering closed against their will. Blackness enveloped their senses when suddenly it turned to white. They were all together again, standing in a blank void. Their bodies, their clothing, their weapons -all of it was accounted for in this virtual realm, though time would tell if it all functioned just the same. A voice came through directly to their ears, the by-then familiar Diver's cheery demeanor.

"How does it feel? Alright? You might feel somewhat of a tiny headache, but nothing that should stop you. But anyways! Here's your mission!" she began. In the simulation, a nondescript suitcase appeared in the center of the gathered circle, materializing chunk by chunk in a flash. It was but a simple rectangular object with a rounded handle, and seemingly no way of even opening it up.

"You have there your charge. You are to keep it in your possession throughout the duration of the mission. If you lose control of it and can no longer feasibly return it to your possession, the mission will end. Additionally, each Operator must cross the finish line whilst maintaining control of the suitcase with at least one of you. Should an Operator permanently fall in battle, the mission will end. And finally -and here's the kicker- you must engage all enemy combatants that you visually identify. Leave no face unpunched!" Diver explained.

Suddenly the empty realm burst into life, massive city buildings and streets forming before their eyes. Every structure was highly simple, being of a flat, white and gray material with little detail to it. Only the basics to reflect a big city. They had windows, entrances, and presumably stairs with which to climb them, but little else. The buildings were diverse, and the streets far from completely grid-like.

"You will start at one end of this fake city, and must reach the other side in one piece!" Diver said. A red beacon lifted into the sky from over the horizon of buildings, guiding their direction. It was immediately clear they had several miles of city between them and their destination. "Your presence will be initially unknown to the simulated enemies, but as you defeat more, and depending on how you do it, they will become more alert and aware of your presence within the city. How you proceed is up to you! You will receive no further guidance, so consider communications with HQ to be cut! Good luck!"

The Operators were left to themselves in that city intersection with only the suitcase. No one else was visible. For the time being, they were alone there.

Everybody had things they preferred not to talk about and clearly this was one of Dragoon's. Nodding a few times, Vlad accepted her response without pushing for any more information. It wasn't all that important in the end and mainly in his interest in how Lungmen was faring. He knew a few people who had ended up working for them, though it'd been a year or so since he last contacted any of them.

Following Diver through the bustling halls, Vlad naturally took up a spot near the back of the group. Made it dodging around or squeezing past bodies didn't end hold holding up everyone else behind him. Ducking as a drone flew a bit too close overhead, he only listened vaguely to what she had to said as it seemed she was responding to the others' queries. Watching the engines roar as they kept the ship afloat was impressive, and the view was something to admire before it grew old and routine. But he was getting ahead of himself.

Vlad would have denied that he was overconfident of his abilities, but he couldn't help and chuckle a bit at Diver's warning to the group. On one side you had a group of eight skilled individuals, and on the other a simulation program that would probably cheat by spawning in contacts at annoying locations. Chuckling again as his mind ran away with the comparison for a few more moments, he settled down once Diver had stepped aside and filed into the room after the others.

While some of the others busied themselves with a snack, Ulzan took the edge off with a blood bar instead. It was a shitty replacement for artificial blood that didn't live up to the real deal, but it did its job in curbing his hunger for the moment. Strapped in and ready to go, he closed his eyes and waited for the show to get on the road. He knew a bit about the technology and that it existed, but messing with neural networks and simulations had never been something he had personally tested.

So when the lot of them appeared in a blank space, Ulzan grabbed at his head for a moment as he blinked the spots from his vision. "Well.. ugh." Squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head, he steadied himself after that before listening to what Diver had to explain and eyeing the case as it formed. A pair of gauntlets covered his entire hand and continued down to his elbow, but otherwise it seemed like his attire had largely gone unchanged. Clicking the fingers against his palm, he leaned back briefly as it almost felt like the rising buildings kicked up a huge gust. In a few blinks, their surroundings had completely changed and he quickly approached one of the newly formed objects to check how sturdy they were.

"Right then, so we should probably figure out who's responsible for lugging this around." Approaching the suitcase and tapping on it a few times, he then turned his hand over and gave the object a firm squeeze. If it was destructible, then that was something they definitely wanted to figure out now rather than in the heat of battle. "Mule, you've worked escort duties while working with Penguin, no doubt?"

Strix kept pace near Diver throughout the walk down the halls, observing the various employees as they passed. She nodded along with Diver's words, wincing at the answer about the boarding sequence. While they walked, Strix pondered on the nature of what kind of area they would be doing a simulation in. Sure the Vindsvalr was huge but would they really have an appropriate space for testing their combat abilities? Then the group arrived at the pods and Strix's stomach turned and her face went pale.

Neural networks? An actual simulation? With computers? Ugh of course they would have something like this. Great.

Strix eyed the pods and computers tentatively, staying near the door. When the drone arrived with coffee, Strix started filling her cup with lots of milk and sugar before downing the whole thing. This was part of the job though, and she would just have to get used to it. Strix hesitantly got into one of the pods, strapped herself in, and took a few deep breaths with her eyes closed.

Moments later Strix opened her eyes to see the white void, and her fellow operators standing around a slowly forming case. There was a faint ringing in her head that was slowly subsiding, and she could hear Diver's voice coming from... nowhere. She grabbed hold of the rifle that appeared on her back, feeling the weight in her hands. It's almost like it's really there...

After getting her bearings, the world began to change and buildings rose out from the white void, the scene quickly becoming a deserted cityscape. Strix took a deep breath. The air was still. She exhaled. The buildings could prove a good vantage point for me, but I would be wide open if I was alone. And this is definitely not a situation to run solo. She looked between the group members as Vlad tested the case and made his initial assessment. Vlad was the more experienced operator here, and Strix would be glad to defer to his judgement but she quickly gave her thoughts on the immediate situation to the group.

"We should figure out how we're going to move. I see two options, one where we stay as a big group and move together, and two where we split up and move in two smaller groups. Personally I would be more comfortable getting on one of those buildings with a better view of things, but we don't know how big the city is or what kind of obstacles they're going to put in our way so having to reposition a lot could prove dangerous. One group may be better in terms of safety in case we get overwhelmed, but two groups could help to split up the enemies and draw enemies away from the case. Thoughts?"

It was real, but it wasn't, really.

As she wiped the last frosty crumbs of the danish off her mouth, Thrones pulled her sleeves up a bit, narrowing her eyes as she practiced her Arts. A second passed, and then a translucent ring, magenta in color, expanded a couple inches away from her palm. She cocked her head, listening for something, and once she heard it, she grimaced.

Not the real thing after all. At least the danishes were good.

The world before her was diversely designed, but colorless and textureless. Was it randomly generated? Or was it something that, true to the neural network name, generated something based off the shared memories of the people plugged in? As Vlad and Strix began discussing strategy, Thrones tested out her body instead, rotating her feet and stretching her arms, generating and oscillating more transculent rings. Exterminate all enemies and arrive safely at their extraction point; didn't seem too bad.

Hearing a crack as she stretched her neck back and wondering whether she'd be hearing that same crack once she returned to reality, Thrones turned to the others and said, "Sticking to one group would be best. We've only one medic, and the mission fails if we incur a single causualty. Don't risk it."

Mule set down her coffee after a tentative sip or two, grateful to get in that much after the briefing came through. The others didn't look like they had much prep to do, though neither did she really. They'd be in the pods and away as swiftly as Retra seemed to want them. She went with some of the others to drop their bags against the wall. First went her backpack, gingerly placed against the wall, but as the operator threw down her duffel bag she knelt and unzipped it. Bright orange fabric and a matte-finished carabiner stared out, the jacket yanked from within and laid beside her. She'd be needing the carrier right off the bat. The vest came out, all open, dirtied pockets crafted in blackened ballistic fabric to complement the eight kilos of ceramic plate hidden in its front and back faces. A hydra of belts and semi-elastic straps hung from the armor like a burnt up squid.

Breathe out. She held it up and lowered it over her head, clicking buckles into place and cinching the vest tight against the snow tone of her sweater. The straps came next, running along the muscles of the arms and legs and creating small points of webbing where they crossed over above and below joints. Low profile rigging for gear she didn't currently have, but also a welcome degree of compression. Breathe in. Compression. She felt heavier, but centered. Mule nodded to herself in approval, clicking the sheath for her axe onto her right thigh and standing up. She toed the empty duffel over to the wall, and threw on her coat. Posture 2 in thirty seconds. In only a week, she'd gotten so sluggish.

She noted that some of the others had needed even less preparation. Warriors who were at one with their tools, arts users who had no such desire, or whichever in between, it was good to see people so confident. For her part, almost damningly, she was used to more of a briefing and certainly more in the way of equipment. But she'd fight naked, or near-naked if you really wanted to count a hand axe, and secure a weapon if she had to. The group was counting on her to carry her own weight. As she walked to the pod, she downed as much of her coffee as she could. It had a peculiar but not unpleasant tinge, one that made her realize just how thirsty she actually was while she settled into the pod. The lid came down. The awful sensation of losing control crept in. At the onset she braced herself, but at the edge of a last flicker of warning shot through her nerves. Instinctively she revolted, a knee flexing up towards the pod door but making it... not even off the padding as everything swam and darkened.

Mule swayed in place as the world began to reform, white suddenly dominating the visual landscape as bulkhead gray had gone before it. The others, armed to the teeth now, their charge, and then the false city itself. As grogginess cleared away and she took an account of her surroundings she couldn't help but wonder as to how the others had generated their armaments until she felt the subtle twist along her right arm. The imposingly dark coating of a ballistic shield, and the thin letterbox of clear polymer to look through it, looked up at her from the mounting point along her right forearm. It wasn't the one she'd left behind, that one was worn down and blasted all over and now in an arms locker at Penguin, but conveniently enough it was the same model. A common make, an intermediate shield with enough height to occlude one's upper body, and about torso width for a male. The tapering at the top edges beside the viewport made it simple for an operator to brace a weapon. Her left hand instinctively shot down to her leg. The same story, her service weapon from Penguin. Retra had done their digging or her agent had put forward a much more complete history than she had. Mule's flat face belied her joy as she drew her pistol. The game was no longer survival, it was the demonstration they had been asked to perform, and it all started to make sense.

"Yes, though usually they were a little bit more needy." She smiled back to Vlad and returned her weapon to her side. She stretched out a hand. "Toss that thing over and I'll get it shackled on. We should maybe duck our heads off this street sooner than later. Diver said they don't know about us but..." She looked up. Thousands of empty windows, no visual description of who or what their adversaries were for the day. It would be foolish to assume a motivated attacker would come without sharpshooters, moreso to assume they would remain idle while they planned their route.

"I don't think that will be true for very long, noise or no. And then," She looked to Strix after Thrones had weighed in. "Yeah, we've all got to come home from this. Splitting our force broadens our front line. We should stay out of aggressive postures. We might have to kill everything we see but we get to pick our fights as slow as we wish for now, so let's all stay together." Internally, she wanted to stay away from the open and skulk off to the shadows right then, but as she spoke she shuffled towards the front of the pack, placing herself between the red beacon and the members of the party she deemed to look less hardy. Protect the direction of travel first, react to contact later... If they were going to be surprised while they talked it over, she resolved to be in the way.