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Once again brought back from a state of abandonment, for the second time in the facility's life, the constant hum of activity nonetheless had a sense of belonging. While signs of its extended period of disuse which had ended only months prior were still visible, a few patches of overgrown greenery and worn paint, the fact that the complex was up and operating at near peak efficiency was testament to the drive and ingenuity of those involved. And to the grave nature of the new threat which those occupying the Stadium's refurbished facilities faced.

For now however, those stationed at the now state-of-the-art complex enjoyed a small moment of peace. Although for most if felt more like a calm before a storm, none were going to squander the chance to take advantage of the break in the action. Around the Stadium crews worked to complete minor repairs and retrofits, now that most of the major systems were back to operational capacity, the previous cacophony of heavy machinery having given way to the whirr of simple power tools. Analysts were settling into previously empty offices and networks routed for full connectivity. All working towards assisting the most important personnel currently on base.

The Operators themselves were scattered across the base, many were taking the time to brush up on training, self-evident from the muffled pops of gunfire echoing from the range. Others, having been flown in from across the globe, taking the time to get over jet lag and adjust themselves. The lab, having been only recently fully staffed, was another hotbed of activity in the complex as Operators spent the time going over and familiarizing themselves with kit both new and old. Of course, there were more than a few just now settling in, even now Rainbow was growing at an impressive rate, as they stowed belongings in barracks and familiarized themselves with the complex itself.

A sense of poised preparedness permeated the air, though not one that was unfamiliar for those around.

Guy Sauvage didn’t want to board an aircraft and fly to Elis, Greece; the Stadium. Instead he drove his 2017 navy blue Citroen C4 Cactus compact SUV from Southern France through Italy to the port of Brindisi in the southern Apulia Region. He boarded a ferry headed to Sami, Kephalonia, Greece. Once in Sami, he had a two hour layover before continuing to Patras, Achaea, Greece. He took time to get a meal from a small cafe in Sami. This was a beautiful locale, quiet, warm and free from all the crazy shit going on in the world.

Patras was a beautiful Aegean City port on the north side of the Peloponnese region of Greece. Guy appreciated the mix of modern architecture with the remnants of the old world. He drove the Cactus along the coastal highway 5 and E55 until he reached the Stadium. Once at the Stadium, he parked his automobile in the lot and carried his duffel bag and rucksack to the barracks. After stowing his equipment, he felt he needed some trigger time.

Guy wore his hip holster with the Glock 17 and carried two boxes of 9mm ammunition. He had only four magazines on him. He loaded his magazines. Each held seventeen rounds which left thirty-two rounds loose in a box. He placed a standard black silhouette target on the stand down range and stood behind the firing port roughly 25 yards away. To warm up, he fired the first magazine at the target. With his first magazine, he put five rounds inside the number nine circle in the head and ten rounds inside the number nine circle in the body. One round landed in the number eight circle and one in the number seven.

Although he was accustomed to putting everything either around the X or at least inside the number nine circle, he did not beat himself up over it. After replacing the magazine, he was able to put eight rounds inside the number nine circle in the head with two in the X and nine rounds in the number nine circle in the body with four in the X. He was happier with this outcome. He pulled the target back and placed eight steel plates on a shelf, standing up at the far end of the pistol range. He then inserted the remaining thirty-two rounds in the two magazines he emptied.

This next drill, he holstered his pistol and set a stopwatch with his left hand. After triggering the stopwatch, he placed it on the stand in front of him, drew his sidearm and rapidly engaged the eight plates. As he squeezed the trigger in rapid succession, he could hear the successive plinks of lead striking steel. He squeezed off eight rounds as quick as he could, reholstered his pistol, grabbed the stopwatch and stopped it. He picked it up and looked at the time. It was 10.8 seconds. Naturally, this included time spent having to pick up the stopwatch, put it down, draw his weapon and put it away. In his opinion, it was too slow, but it would be easier to do if he had a partner to operate the stopwatch for him. He would continue to shoot the plates until he ran out of ammo.

The gym wasn't currently occupied with too many individuals, and those few bodies in there with her were just as concentrated in their routine as she was. Alejandra was breathing hard, beads of sweat making her skin glisten. Classic rock filled her ears, those sounds accompanied by the steady thud thud thud of her feet making contact with the textured surface. She usually attempted to run in beat to the music, although such pace couldn't be reached in this instance. Instead, she increased the speed to the fastest setting she had been using in order to go on her sprint for another full minute. More often than not, Alejandra performed her interval training indoors while saving the outdoor trails for a nice, long jog.

A minute passed, and Alejandra slowed the machine down to nearly a halt. She took rather slow steps, her reflection on the mirror in front of her proof that she had reached peak performance. She grabbed the towel draped on the handle beside her and dabbed her face. Alejandra also grabbed her water bottle, intending to get some fresh air. Turning off the machine with one hand, Alejandra got off of it and made her way outside, once there welcoming the light breeze through her hair. It was a nice day outside, and she debated whether she should go for that jog or head back to the barracks. But the latter sounded too good to pass up. Alejandra settled on taking a short walk around the complex instead of walking right across to her quarters. On her walk she acknowledged a man on a bench, quickly waving at him as a polite gesture, but not necessarily stopping to have a conversation. Alejandra still had her headphones on, for one, and she wasn't in a hurry to get acquainted with anyone just yet. She hadn't been on location long enough and there was plenty of time to intimately get to know her teammates down the road.

She continued on her stroll when her phone rang, interrupting the current song on her playlist.

"Buenos días, mamá."

Alejandra was glad her mother had called. It'd been a while since they'd last talked. Not that their conversation would be all that different from the other ones. Her mother, Alicia, would ask her a series of questions about her wellbeing. That was the joy of being an only child; having overprotective parents looking over you a little more carefully than normal. Once Alejandra had given her enough satisfactory responses, the conversation then shifted to her mother's ramblings surrounding her political affairs. According to previous conversations, her professional life was anything but boring. One could make a TV show out of it and be entertained for days without changing the channel.

"¿Y esos tiros?"

Her mother was alarmed. Alejandra had to tell her someone was in the range and she wasn't being gunned down. There was no reassuring the woman, not until Alejandra was back home safe and sound, and it'd be a while before that happened. The two women spoke for a little while longer before hanging up, but not without another reminder about Alejandra's father's upcoming birthday. She hadn't forgotten, but maybe she would purchase a gift online after eating a snack and taking a shower in order to get that out of the way.

Tack, tack.
Tack tack tack.
Tack tack.
Tack.
Tack tack tack tack.

Every squeeze of her finger was responsible for a complex mechanical and chemical reaction that mankind had harnessed centuries ago. Her finger's squeeze ordered a small metal hammer to strike down onto a plate with enough force to ignite the low explosives contained within- nitrocellulose, cordite, she wasn't perfectly sure. Then, that explosion would send a metal slug out the front of the gun wuith several hundred meters per seconds worth of force behind it, the gasses and noises vented and contained through a specially constructed metal frame that absorbed as much of the supersonic noise as it could.

At the end of it all, this slug- this object capable of snuffing out a human life in but a second, would ping off a thick metal bar attached to an aiming machine, which would swing back and forth to register the many hits she was putting downrange. When she had finished with her current series of shots, she would unload the marksman rifle she was using and place it back on its rack, sighing.

She was... Bored was not the right word, but perhaps it was the one she would use for now. She had little to do, her duties in electronics were taken care of, she had caught up on her shows, and, in a sense, she was itchy. Itchy for action, itchy for work. She hadn't earned her pay in too long by her books, she could do with something to occupy her time.

---

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Pretty nice digs here, thought Jackson. He had never been to uni, but this was what he imagined it would be like if you were studying there. Nothing like the army barracks he was used to, and it was warm enough that he he could strip out of his CADAPT as quickly as possible, leaving himself in just a pair of boxers. Not like anyone else would be walking around here to see him half-naked anyway. His body was toned and muscled, but also ringed with scars. There were three, near-identical circle-shaped scars near his left side, and his fingers played across them. You could feel them all tough from the scar tissue, but one of them still had the bullet there. It had gone deep, and there was no reason to subject him to surgery just to pull it out and potentially risk a hell of a lot of complications, or so the docs had said.

Knife scar across his stomach. That had been a lucky break. The mass of scar tissue where he had had a clump of ice been kicked off a roof and tear up his shoulder. Worst of all his scars, and it didn't even have a good story behind it. The burn marks along his knuckles, where a fucker at his dumping ground for unwanted kids, orphanage had put a smoke flat against his skin and lit it whilst holding him down. A dozen and a half more across his body that he didn't want to dwell on much longer.

He walked into the bathroom and kicked off even his boxers, slamming the shower door to and turning it on full blast. The amount of sweat that had built up over the course of wearing that bloody uniform... Ugh, he didn't want to think about it. Soap, shampoo, get himself clean, if nothing else, and then he would blast himself with a liberal amount of antiperspirant. Normally he would do this in the morning, but he just wanted to get clean right now, truth be told.

Without much circumstance, he dug himself out another pair of boxers and crashed down onto the bed, drifting off fast. Long flights would really take that out of you.

Jab.
Straight.
Duck.
Hook.

Finn let out a labored breath as the bag swung from its place attached to the ceiling. Slowly pulling off the gloves that were kept tight around his hand, Finn made his way to a chair against the wall of the gym. Tossing his gloves into the bag at his feet Finn allowed his breath to drop back to normal. Boxing was soothing for the sniper, allowing for him to let out any stress or aggravation that may have been building. Bringing a towel down over his face removing the leftover sweat Finn took a moment to look around the gym. It was a state of the art facility that was much nicer than where he usually had to train and work out whenever he got the odd chance. The more he thought about it, things here were quite different from what he was used to. Sure there was still a chain of command and they were going to be following impossible missions but it was the air around the facility that was so different. Everyone here, as far as he could tell, was the best the world had to offer and the equipment reflected that. It did make sense he supposed, why have the world's greatest if you weren't going to give them the best odds of success.

“Well, that's enough daydreaming I suppose.” Finn thought to himself while throwing the bag over his shoulder aiming to make his way to his room.

---

Having arrived on Greece just a few hours ago, Mikhail was taken directly to The Stadium, the headquarters for the Rainbow team. Even though he was by no means inexperienced, he couldn't help but feel a bit restless. He had complete confidence in his skills but he never thought of himself as one of the best among the best. Ironically, some people, powerful people, thought differently. Being part of one of the select few that were, officially the best among the best, to be part of the Rainbow team was both an honor and a great responsibility. The facility that he was going to houses the best operators and the brightest minds that were working to support them, what was expected of Mikhail was excellence and no less. After a short explanation about the different areas on The Stadium, he was escorted to the barracks and shown to his personal quarters.

Most of the stuff he had brought were already on the room, including, much to his surprise, a large rectangular gun case in the corner of the room. When he was selected to join the Rainbow team, he made a personal request, asking if the personal weapons he owned and used in the SSO could be taken there. Unfortunately, due to a number of reasons, they had to deny his request but not before reassuring him that they would try to do something about it. As he opened the gun case, he couldn't help but let his eyes wander at what was inside. Instead of the guns he used, the ones inside the case were improved, modernized and modified versions, with state-of-the-art attachments such as scopes, silencers & etc. Even though that was only a small glimpse of the type of equipment that was at his disposal on the facility, it was already enough to make him impressed and eager to test them on the shooting range.

After taking a quick shower, which was undoubtedly needed after the flight and grabbing the gun case, he went outside, stopping just outside of the barracks and looking at the Arena for a brief moment and then looking around in order to situate himself on the facility. While the noises of people working and the muffled sounds of shots in the distance were proof that the facility indeed was operating nearly at one hundred percent of it's capability, a testament that the people gathering there were nothing less than the best in their respective areas, it was undeniable that the overall scenario was... different from what he was expecting. It was more relaxing than what he thought it would be, in fact, it did look much more like the campus of an university than anything else. That said, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The atmosphere was definitely more relaxing than the other places he used to work. The only thing he would have to be careful was to not let himself be affected by that atmosphere too much to the point that he would slack on his training routine.

With those thoughts in mind, Mikhail went towards the shooting range, which wasn't hard to find due to the muffled sound of shots and the mental image he had of the map of the facility. Practicing a bit would not only help Mikhail to get acclimated with the facility and he would have the pleasure to test the weapons that were provided to him but it could potentially lead to him to knowing more about the other operators he would work with. Since Mikhail wasn't the one that often started the conversations, the best thing he could do was to make himself seen around the facility.

2035

February 16

1300 Hours

The Stadium

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The screen blinked off, plunging the room into a darkness illuminated only by the faint glow of indicator lights from the equipment lining the back wall.

This wasn't good.

The Operator formerly known as Thatcher steepled his hands, elbows resting on the desk which he had only recently come to occupy. A single breath, enough to collect his thoughts, before he spoke to the otherwise empty room.

"Blinds."

Immediately sunlight poured into the room on command, as the shutters slid back from the panoramic windows on the office wall. A click sounded from the door as the lock disengaged itself, confidentiality no longer needed as the call which had taken place moments before ended. Baker blinked as his vision adjusted to the change in illumination. The office was still in a partial state of repair, much like the rest of the facilities, evident by the mess of wiring still occupying one corner and the scuff marks of tools and materials still visible on the old flooring. His own personal effects were still packed away, not that he had very many to begin with, giving the room an austere appearance. Even so, he had made due with what he had.

Just as those around him had given the pace which the entire operation had been rushed back into service.

Now was the time for action, they had prepared as much as they could given the circumstances, and now only time would tell if they were ready.

Baker keyed in a code into the pad on his desk, this time speaking to someone other than the room.

"Gather active Operators, emergency briefing in an hour." He spoke.

"Yes sir," came the response on the other end of the line.

Moment of truth.



Across the Stadium the message went out, distributed over personal devices or brought in person for those who had yet to be issued any. The air of the entire complex took on a more active note, an increase in activity as actions and attention became focused. People fell into the well-worked motions of preparing for action.

The German commando sat casually at the metal table that occupied the centre of her storage unit, situated a few floors underground the topside Armoury. Scattered across the breadth of said table lay the various components of a H&K G3 battle rifle, in various states of disassembly, and a pair of combat boots propped up on a corner, being worn by said commando, clad in her Flecktarn fatigues (though only the bottom half, with the blouse sitting draped over the opposite chair) and a white undershirt.

Cradled in Winter's hands were the bolt and carrier assemblies, which, to her trained eye, were now clear of any dust or grime that would otherwise cause potential malfunctions. Satisfied, she reattached the bolt to the carrier and set it down, tossing the splotchy rag she'd been using to the other side of the table. With another cursory glance at all the components of the rifle, she decided it was up to spec and began reassembling the weapon, her hands dancing over the table and the chassis of the gun in a fluid and precise manner that could only become second-nature through repetition - and a lot of it.

She was just inserting the guide-rod and stock mount assembly into the back of the receiver when she heard her phone buzz a priority alert tone from inside her pocket.

"Scheiße." was her only whispered response upon reading the words 'emergency briefing'.

She pinned the aforementioned assembly back into place before racking the charging handle and dry-firing once to ensure functionality.

Winter replaced her blouse and beret, wiped the grease from her hands with a clean rag, and kept the now-assembled rifle on the table. She had a feeling she might need to use it sooner than later. For now, she was off to the barracks.

The clicking on the keyboard was practically the only sound within the room. Alejandra sat crosslegged on her bed, laptop propped up on a small stand in front of her. To her right, she had a fresh cup of tea on the bedside table, the steam rising away from the hot liquid. Alejandra usually waited for the tea to cool down a bit. She was unlike her mother who preferred to drink it hot. Her father, on the other hand, did not drink tea. He stuck to whisky, occasionally claiming it to be a gentleman's drink. But that was his excuse to drink whenever he felt like it, and neither Alejandra nor her mother paid him any mind.

Currently working on a program she'd created, Alejandra was lost in her own little world. She had gotten back from her work-out, taken a shower, and made herself a quick snack to eat while she waited for the water to boil. Once that was done, she grabbed her laptop and tea and headed to the bedroom. She had made some slight progress in the work she had planned to get done when the handheld she'd been issued went off. Alejandra turned her head to the side and reached for the phone that was also on her bed within arm's reach. She considered taking a sip of her tea, but thought better of it. The message that had been sent, while essential, did not elicit any response from her. She put the phone down, typed a few more things before shutting down the program, and placed the laptop aside. The tea was still in its place, untouched. Alejandra sighed before grabbing the cup and sipping some brewed perfection

Obviously that was a mistake.

The tea was still too hot for her liking, and she'd been foolish in assuming it had cooled down to her taste without first testing it. Alejandra grimaced momentarily before exhaling through her mouth. She hated burning her tongue as it meant she couldn't taste very good for a while. But she wasn't in a sour mood, not when she was about to get to work. She'd been looking forward to it since her arrival, and it was finally that time.

---

Having arrived on the firing range, Mikhail opened the heavy case after putting it down on a table just like a boy would open a christmas gift as he inspected the weapons that were given to him. With a single glance from his experienced eye, he could already tell, without even touching the guns that his expectations were surpassed by far. Silenced and chambered in powerful, subsonic rounds, a classic weapon, modernized and revived, the ASM Val was truly something wonderful. Being similar to models that he had already used before, it felt familiar on his hands, easy to wield and it's state-of-the-art scope and integrated suppressor made it sure that it was as silent as it was deadly. The Sig Sauer MCX in the other hand, a model that he had taken a liking to after using one in a conjoint operation, was certainly a surprise. Modified to the point it was nearly unrecognizable from the original weapon, it was outfitted to his specific skills and liking. The hybrid sight made it perfect to close and mid distance combat while it's compact and light body gave it an incredible handling. Finally, the sidearm, a Lebedev PL-15 was a personal favorite of his. Simple, but deadly, it had no attachments other than a silencer.

The very moment he finally put his hands on one of the weapons though, ready to test them, the personal device that was given to him buzzed as an alarm went off. The message was short and it's meaning clear, it was time to get ready for action.

"Blyat..." Mikhail cursed with an almost disappointed expression as he closed the case, putting the phone back in his pocket.

Grabbing the large case and putting over his shoulder, Mikhail ran back to the barracks in order to get ready. There was still an hour to the briefing and Mikhail could get ready for action in just a few minutes due to the years of practice, but Mikhail himself never liked to be late, nor he wanted to, seeing where he was at the moment. Being in the position he was meant one thing, he was one of the best among the best and nothing short of excellency was expected of him.

William was tinkering in the engineering room, trying to build some modifications for his GREMLIN. Said GREMLIN, Gizmo, was currently prowling around, hovering and scanning to its own leisure. A jolt of electricity could be heard from the room, followed by a "Son of a..." William, post getting zapped by a faulty wire, was jumping across the room in pain. His hand was a little burnt, but nothing too serious.

Gizmo was busy staring at the when a notification popped up inside of it. It was from high command, apparently there was something going down, and they needed all active members of team RAINBOW to respond. Gizmo flew over to William, trying to get his attention. "Not now, Gizmo." William said. The medic was busy patching up his finger. No matter how many boops and beeps Gizmo made, William would shrug him off. Finally, Gizmo had enough. It hovered a few paces back and somewhat forcefully slammed into William's shoulder.

"What do you want Gizmo!?" The SEAL yelled, finally getting to the end of his patience. "What could be so important that you are interrupting my tinkering!?" Gizmo flew to the tv, signaling to William that he was needed at HQ. His eyes widened, as he put down whatever was in his hands and slowly gravitated over to the tv. "Damn, Gizmo. Why didnt you say anything? Come on! Thatcher is an impatient man!" He grabbed Gizmo, not even letting him fly, as they ran to the briefing room