The Hologram that everyone was watching soon cuts out. All around you stands several carefully selected individuals. An older woman with tied back golden hair wearing a pristine lab coat, and slimming red dress with black pumps, and small wire glasses looks upon everyone. Her stature says she is bored, though her eyes betray her boundless curiosity. She calls your name, and you are taken into a small room. Inside is a small metallic table, and two chairs made of the same metal. Sitting against a wall, sitting in those two chairs are highly trained soldiers. At the center of the table sits a peculiar metal spherical device. With many circular glass disks over it. As you approach the table, the device bathes you in a green light for several seconds slightly blinding you for a bit.

The scientist soon walks up to you injecting something into your arm that has a faint blue glow.
"You have just been injected with micro machines that will track your physical and mental health, along with allowing you access to the hangar and armory. For now you are free to explore the Helicarrier as you please, as you wait for Creed’s orders. Get to know your fellow soldiers in the project. You can even go pick out any empty room on the second floor," she said as she types away at datapad.
The scientist then produced a box containing an ear bud radio.
“Also, don’t lose this, it will allow you to communicate with us, and request support from your friends in the field,” they finished with a smile.
She then excused you, and called the next person in.

Creed walked through the halls of the helicarrier, overlooking the new mechs. In his vision was several images only he could see, which were displayed through his mask. It controlled everything on this ship, and relayed information to him. He was trying to make sure that there was nothing that he needed to tune up. His hands dancing through the air as he scryed through the information. His red glowing eyes darting slightly as he read on. Soon he let his arms drop, and he set a hand to his chin in thought. There were no issues with the mech’s themselves, but there was something else bothering him. He slowly walked away heading to the cafeteria to get something to eat, he was hoping it wasn’t the same gruel they always served. He was getting tired of the same tasteless grey mush.

Saren was walking past people having gotten his shot, and ear bud radio. Memories of the past began their regular dance through his mind, of the monsters that had crushed his parents to death. He’d watched it on the news of massive dog like creatures descending upon them. Like they were nothing, but chew toys. The large lanky creatures of metal, and flesh had two long metallic tendrils coming from their shoulder blades. They’d gone on a rampage after killing his parents, killing everyone in a ten mile radius. He’ll never forget what he’d seen, nor would he ever forgive them.

John left the room, he was now a soldier of Project Robotika. John saw the man heading to the cafe and followed. He went behind him in the queue. "Hey there, I'm John" he greeted with a smile "and you are?" He asked. John was a tall muscular man with reddish/maroon hair. His left arm hurt a little from the injection a couple of minutes ago but he's used to pain, however he felt a strange surge through his veins, like the nanobots were travelling round.

Katrina rubbed her arm that got the shot. "I hate needles" she mumbled then looked around. She saw quite a few guys around the area and it seemed like no other women were chosen. "I swear if I get hit on once I'm going to snap their neck" she said to herself. She then looked around and saw a sign that said barracks. "Might as well claim a room" she said to herself. She headed towards the first one she saw and went inside and set her bag down. She unzipped it and took her gun out and smiled. "Hello old friend" she said then twisted an almost invisible button causing a little compartment to open. She took out the photo that was inside and smiled as she looked at it. On it was her father in his mid 20 and her mother of about the same age, and Katrina of about 6. She didn't remember this day but loved having this memento of her past. "I hope they have actual food on this flying can" she said to herself as she put the picture back and shut the compartment.

"I hate injections." James said, walking around the halls of the helicarrier. He wondered what he should do, since there seemed to be quite a few options. Eat, train, find a cabin, walk around aimlessly... He thought. I guess I'll just walk around aimlessly.

James walked around for maybe two minutes, and got bored. Whatever, I'm gonna go find a cabin, he thought to himself, walking in the direction of the cabins. Once he was there, he walked to the first cabin he saw. Unfortunately, James discovered it had been taken, not by knocking or anything but by walking into the door by accident. "Ow." He whimpered quietly. "I guess it's taken." James walked to the next cabin along, and stepped in. The cabin was then registered as his. He set his bag down beside the bed of the room, and hopped onto the bed, relaxing for a bit.

Ian gritted his teeth as he was injected, he had no problem with the needle, it was just being injected with tiny machines that didn't sit well with him "Must have read too many Si-Fi Books, eh?" he thought to himself with a smile as the doctor moved on to the next person. He loitered for a few moments, silently taking stock of the other pilots. Finally he resolved to go check over his Mech, best to find out problems now than later. He made his way into the Mech bay, maneuvering himself around the various mechanics and technicians that were going here and there, taking care of the Mechs. Finding his own he looked at it up and down from various angles, of course he wouldn't know if anything was actually wrong, but it was enjoyable for him at least. As he completed his visual check he walked over to a Tech who was looking at a chart, not much more than 15 from the right foot. "So, how's everything look?" Ian asked

Without even looking up the Tech responded "Looks like everything checks out, though the right side balance is a-" He walked off still talking to no one in particular

"Well then" Ian thought, a slightly bemused look on his face "Eh, might as well get something to eat and a bed before the others take it all."

With that he walked slowly off towards the stairwell, softly whistling various tunes as he walked.

Jean-Baptiste lay about in his bed, door unlocked and shades and beret left on the nightstand, restlessly flicking the blade of a pocket knife back and forth. He had several very good reasons, he felt, not to mingle with the newcomers: he'd already gotten his shot and earbud back when he'd first signed up with Creed as a test pilot, he'd disliked the welcoming speech back then (a regular bunch of army recruitment bullcrap were his exact thoughts) and, having caught a short glimpse at some of the crew's profiles the previous day, he had absolutely no desire to socialize with a bunch of emotional rejects that would probably get themselves killed at the drop of a hat.

No, Jean-Baptiste was already annoyed enough. Whenever the helicarrier lifted off or was otherwise decided to be on service by Mr Masky it meant no shore leave, no alcohol, no easy women and no "stimulants" to pass the time with. The nanomachines in his system, while effective, only detected some irritation and restlessness in him, perfectly normal in soldiers between combat zones. Only a psychiatrist, and an very good one with a lot of time on their hands at that, might've sensed that Jean-Baptiste was not nervous about combat but instead craving the opportunity to crush something and get the itch out of his system. In the meantime he lay there, flicking the blade back and forth, back and forth. Waiting.

Bob was sitting at a computer in his room, plucking away at his personal laptop intently. On the screen was a chart of his body and the various machines now traveling within. "Not a difficult concept..." he muses, pulling up another window and beginning his report. To any other human these words looked like gibberish, scribbles at best. To Bob, however, it was a carefully created code meant for secrecy. Creed Corporation certainly meant business with these mechs, and between these machines and the background checks it was going to be quite the challenge to get anything from this company let alone the secrets of their robot development process. "Challenge accepted" he mutters, encrypting his data and closing the laptop. These nanomachines would be a problem, but nothing he really couldn't overcome...
Changing his expression to a simple, dopey grin, he pumps his left fist in the air and leaves his room. It was time to meet his new posessions.

Creed looked back at John smiling at the new recruit behind his mask. Though he soon got an alert that Bob was trying to send some data he raised a finger for John to hang on a second. As he began setting to work intercepting it checking for any classified data in Bob's code. He could see through it with only minor problems. Though he soon let it be sent to it's destination, the nano machines did far more then just track ones mental health, and physical health. They also monitored any data that the pilots tried to send or receive, to prevent any secret information from being leaked. He only let the pilots know what was important at the time.

He then turned back to John, and offered his hand to him.
"My name is Creed, I'm the project manager. I know exactly who you are, after all I was the one that picked you. Along with every pilot for Project Roboticka," He said chuckling softly.
He moved through the line, and saw the fresh amazing food. It was actual food biscuits, mashed potatoes, and real meat. Creed broke into a happy dance as he got his food, as he was more then ecstatic to finally get something other then grey mush.

Saren walked to the training room, figuring he'd practice his forms. Seeing as it helped him to concentrate, and push past the memories. It was incredibly therapeutic to have a sword in his hands. Only to be surprised by strange bed like tube things with helmets. One of the scientists approached Saren.
"What training would you like? Solo training or group training? Along with what weapon would you like to train with? Or do you wish to practice with your mech," they asked.
"Uh solo, and sword please," Saren said.
The scientist nodded, and walked away to a lit up bed that whirred slightly. The scientist typed away at a touch screen, and then motioned for Saren to lay down. Saren gulped nervously as he had no idea what was going on. Then laid down, and the scientist put the helmet on. Then shut the tube, and pressed the button that made Saren sleep. When he opened his eyes again he was alone in an empty field with a katana in his hands.

A man with a grey and green mask turned around to John, who seemed very business like, and greeted him in a peculiar way.
"My name is Creed, I'm the project manager. I know exactly who you are, after all I was the one that picked you. Along with every pilot for Project Roboticka," He said chuckling softly.
John shook Creed's hand.
"Well then there's no need for introducing myself" He replied, smiling.
Creed walked away to the front of the line
"Aw man, that guy's my boss? He's kinda strange" He thought, unaware that the nanobots picked up everything.
"Ah well, strange is good in a time like this"

John decided to leave the queue for food, he wasn't all that hungry after all. He left the cafeteria and followed the signs to the sleeping quarters, however on his way he noticed several things. Firstly, the amount of staff that wore lab coats was astonishing, secondly his bodly felt tingly from the injection, and thirdly, he really wanted to see Centurion again. He finally reached the rooms and chose his, he opened the door after checking his door number, room 4, and looked inside, it was bland at first, with not much in it but he could definatately
tell what he wanted, a punching bag in the far corner, some posters and maybe a rack for the gloves he wore over his career, if pilots got there belongings.

Katrina was snapped out of any thought she had when something hit her door hard. She got up and opened it seeing nothing.. "I hope there isn't ghosts on board." She said shaking her head, then went back to her bed. She pondered if she should go and get something to eat, but was answered with her stomach growling out for food. She chuckled as she put her gun back into her bag and put it on her back before exiting the room.

Katrina made her way to the cafeteria and saw a strange man with a mask. He was doing a happy dance? Why am I stuck with weirdos? She thought to herself before going over to the line. She was given a biscuit, some mashed potatoes, and a piece of meat. She smiled then looked around finding a secluded spot in the room. She sat down and started to eat, but kept an eye out for anyone that will come over. She then felt a little pinch and she chalked it up to the nano machines in her blood stream. That actually brought up another thought who invented all of this?

Despite his attempts at projecting a calm, more sophisticated exterior, Jean-Baptiste was quite impatient and erratic and did things as the mood struck him, dropping things quite suddenly and for little to no discernible reason and even doing the exact opposite not long after at times. Bored, antsy, annoyed at the abstinence forced upon him and unable to sleep because of the goddamn noise in the goddamn helicarrier, he decided he was gonna go for a walk and maybe see what Bob was up to, he was perhaps the one person Jean-Baptiste could tolerate in the entire ship. Pocketing his knife and practically slamming his beret down on his head, though the shades were left forgotten in his nightstand, he hastily exited his room, giving the automatic sliding door a swift punt that served little purpose but letting him vent out his pent-up agressions on being stuck without any good entertainment in a flying, oversized tincan.

"HEY BOB, DID YOU SWITCH ROOMS AGAIN" he yelled in the hallway as the door closed behind him, his voice resonating within the cramped, metallic confines. He'd already spent a good 5 minutes of his life pounding on doors to what he had known to be Bob's room a day before, only for the man to turn up elsewhere, having decided to move for no discernible reason. Jean-Baptiste figured it was a thing from having grown up without much.

Making his way down the hallway Bob was rather amused to see his.....associate banging on the door to his "room."
Due to them both being special, rather dubious, cases both Bob and Jean-Baptiste were inducted at an earlier time. Hand picked by Creed for their skills rather than their personality they were given rooms first in the hopes that no...problems would occur later. To Bob, the sleeping solution seemed simple enough: if it was empty, squat in it and hope the boss man didn't complain. Creed was nothing but eccentric, and he never issued anything akin to a floor plan or even room numbers...so why shouldn't spare rooms go to him?
"HEY BOB, DID YOU SWITCH ROOMS AGAIN"
Sadly such a habit didn't sit well with Jean-Baptiste. He had such a low tolerance for the whimsy in life, a real shame. Upon a second glance, the man was clearly agitated. Bob grinned, knowing that Jean-Baptiste loved his women and his stimulants and that Creed probably didn't let such things aboard. Oh wait, no. Correcting himself Bob remembered that there *was* a woman among the pilots but she was a mood killer at best. Far too much angst in that one.
"You seem tense comrade.." Bob began, eagerly awaiting the mans response.

Ian's whistling died down as he reached the mess hall. He took a moment to survey the hall, his stomach growling in protest at the further delay. Keeping his smile he moved into the line "might as well see what type of MRE they are serving today." He thought as he moved through the line slowly working his way to the food. As he reached it however he was pleasantly surprised at the sight that lay before him, his stomach growling once more as he started grabbing various foodstuffs. He exited the line full tray in hand, chewing a bite of biscuit. He once more paused to look around the room, this time for a place to sit more than anything else. After a very short glance he saw a nearly empty table, its only occupant being a pilot he recognized from the roster as Katrina. He made he way over, swallowing the bite in his mouth as he set down his food one seat down on the opposite side from Katrina. Turning to her he spoke just loud enough for her to hear over the dull roar of the general Mess "Mind if I sit here?"

"For such a brainiac you sure have a bad habit of stating the obvious". A final bang on the door, completely uncalled for really, punctuated the end of the sentence. "Yes I'm tense, I'm bored, I'm antsy and I can't sleep. I hate this place and I hope we get deployed so I can take it out on something real, simulation just doesn't do it for me". Jean-Baptiste took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists, and adopted a more relaxed posture. The change was remarkable, from borderline psychotic to calm and collected individual in a second or two, not just physically but mentally as well. It was a mask, but it was a good one and one Jean-Baptiste had worn often and was comfortable in, to the point where even the nanomachines might have registered the changes.

"So, comrade, your thoughts on the newcomers?" The tone was neutral, with a tinge of honest curiosity to it, but someone who knew Bertrand as well as Bob did would automatically substitute "newcomers" with "cannon fodder", if he were being kind. "And what of that other matter? I believe you were just working on it". If Bob had a scientific interest in the nanomachines, that was well and good, but Jean-Baptiste hated the thought of someone poking and prodding around his body and brain and simply wanted the intrusion dealt with, a complaint he'd made often and vigorously to anyone who would listen. And several who wouldn't.

"I wouldn't count on them too much, it takes more than a sob story to survive on the battlefield." Bob's tone was slightly bitter. At least they actually *had* something to lose in the first place. The moment quickly passed as Bob shifted into his business persona. The little invaders in their bodies, such a bothersome topic that he'd attempted to remedy many times. While Creed wasn't as intelligent as Bob, he was infinitely more innovative and these tiny machines served as proof. Simple and numerous, they tracked the various physical responses and served as a "leash" for the pilots. It was a form of control he didn't like one bit.
"As for those pesky nanomachines, I was unable to remove them without immediately terminating our ability to pilot ...." Jean-Baptiste seemed to lose interest at this point, but he decided to continue anyway. Reaching into his jacket, Bob's glasses gained an eerie shine "However, I *have* developed a little something to make our noggins....a little more private..." Trailing off like that was a tell-tale sign that Bob was willing to sell, not give, this new invention to his comrade. The only question was how much he could squeeze out before he lost interest. There were many selling points for this new wonder drug but none that Jean-Baptiste could, well, understand so he'd really need to market this one.

Jean-Baptiste sighed. He knew where Bob was going, same place Bob always took things if at all possible. It was troublesome at times, but he'd learned to put up with it and had even come to develop a sort of grudging respect for the man's greed and honestly spectacular ability to market anything and everything he could get his hands on. In some ways it mirrored his own life of selling his aptitude for combat, and their skillsets made them a good team. He hoped Bob wouldn't give him a reason to kill him. "Yes, yes, I get it, you want money I don't have. The choicest of company comes with a price and I had very good company during shore leave. I'll get back to you after Boss Mask pays us for our next assignment, yes? A man's head should stay private as a matter of principle".

As for the new pilots, he knew they'd agree on that before he even asked. "They might be greener than grass, but watching the fresh meat "fight" should be good fun, don't you think? Group like this, I bet they're going to be at eachother's throats before we even get called out. One hundred american says someone starts something at the cafeteria".

Katrina looked at Ian with a glare but just shrugged "its a free country but try any 'moves' and you will become a woman." Katrina said as she looked at Ian and then back down to her food. She ate the meat using a knife to cut it into little squares then dip them into the mashed potatoes and ate them. "I bet I don't have to say my name right now to introduce myself" she said. She knew of the files on the others but never got around to reading them. She wondered what was everyone's story on how they got to this point right now.

Ian chuckled slightly as he sat "You don't have to worry me Ma'am, just taking the time to get to know at least one of my colleagues before we are dropped into the middle of a hot zone." He chewed another bite of biscuit before continuing "You are right on that, no offence, but you stick out of this crowd like a sore thumb.But I also must say that beyond your name I dont know much more about you, creed had most of it 'Classified' for some reason, just what you looked like and name, that's about it. Which makes me curious, what brings you up here? Why fight the things that go bump in the night?" He asked this with a slight smile as he continued eating, waiting for he response.

John raised his clenched fists up and brought them fairly close together. He executed a quick right jab, "Rusty" he said to himself in the privacy of his room. Left, right, left, right hook. John began his shadowboxing routine, something he does once everyday possible. This took him back to his boxing career, John closed his eyes a d pictured his third fight. The semi-finals of the international Metal Fist tournament, in the red corner, John Brooks, in the blue corner, Rino Kapahu. The bell rang and Kapahu rushed foward, swinging a huge left, John (in his memory and real life) weaved under and punched Rino in his exposed side with his own left before sidestepping to make some distance. John used two hooks, one left, one right, and followed with a left uppercut. Rino stood there blocking all three shots, however the boxer was knocked back a couple of steps.

"I have...reason to believe they kidnapped my parents" Katrina said. She then looked at Ian "what brings you up here?" She asked then took a scoop of mashed potatoes. She didn't want to go into deep details of her past and figured Ian didn't want to either. She was wondering if anyone else was going to be joining them. She was hoping not, but a part deep down wanted more to join.