Creed took his tray stacked high with his biscuits, mashed potatoes, and steak all slathered in gravy. To an empty table where he pressed a button on the side of his mask. Making it retract the mouth plate to show his actual mouth while staying over his eyes, and nose. He then clapped his hands together thanking god for the amazing meal he was about to enjoy, and began to dig in only to hear an alarm play in his ears. He dipped his head down crying a bit as the alarm was for an emergency. War Dogs were getting into one of the refugee bunkers. He tapped the buttons again letting the mouth plate return.
"All pilots to the mech bay. We got an emergency on our hands people. War dogs are breaking through the gates on the Seattle, and California refugee bunkers. We will be splitting you into two teams," Creed said his voice coming through the ships intercom system.

John's shadowboxing was cut short when he heard an alarm and the intercoms. "All pilots to the mech bay. We got an emergency on our hands people. War dogs are breaking through the gates on the Seattle, and California refugee bunkers. We will be splitting you into two teams." Thats all he needed to hear. John swung his door open and ran to the mech bay. John wondered what kind of people his comrades would be on his way to the mech bay.

Fiddling inside his coat, Bob groaned with distaste. No money right now it would seem, but pressing him would be a bad idea. Jean-Baptiste was unstable, currently unable to satisfy his urges, and the last thing Bob needed at the moment was a “semi friendly” battle to the death. "What you spend on "company” could feed a small nation, yanno”. Finally reaching what we hoped was the correct pocket,he pulled out a large syringe of a clear red color. Throwing it to his comrade, Bob began to mentally tally the interest that he would deduct from Jean-Baptiste’s next pay.
"I’ll take that bet if only because our female companion seems to the type to remove a man’s bal----"
Suddenly Creed's voice blared over the alarm system, cutting him off mid thought. "All pilots to the mech bay. We got an emergency on our hands people. War dogs are breaking through the gates on the Seattle, and California refugee bunkers. We will be splitting you into two teams." Bob visibly brightened.
"---oh there we go. The boss has a job for us. We should really get on that". Adjusting his glasses and motioning for Jean-Baptiste’ to follow him, Bob continued to gab. "We should seek to mentor them! You never know when you’ll need “backup” against a near innumerable alien menace, and the longer they live the more bodies between us and the horde!"

Jean-Baptiste caught the syringe mid-air and resisted the urge to jab it in his arm. It wasn't that he didn't trust Bob, but...well yes, he didn't really trust Bob that much. It was just how their partnership went, he didn't trust Bob and Bob maneuvered around Bertrand's psychoses. "Considering the money this is going to cost me, I want to know exactly what this is going to do to me before I shoot up" he went as the alarm began blaring. He followed Bob, pocketing the syringe and visibly excited at the prospect of taking his agressions out on living things, a big wide grin plastered over his face and hands twitching involuntarily. It was somewhat unsettling if you weren't used to it. "I know what you're saying makes sense, but I'm not gonna go out of my way to keep any of these suckers alive."

Ian thought the question over "They, more or less, destroyed my home, so this was basically what was left." He shrugged as he continued eating. "Still I get a fighting chance at killing them this way, so I guess its not all bad." At that moment the alarms went off, causing Ian to laugh slightly "Would you look at that, I should talk about things more often maybe they would actually work!" he said through his smile as he grabbed the last portable food on his plate, leaving his tray there with whatever small hope that he would be able to pick up where he left off, or that there would be food left anywhere on the ship that wasn't MRE's by the time he got back. "Well lets not keep our death machines waiting, I can practically feel Cataphract itching to go from here." he said to Katrina, obviously wanting to go himself.

Katrina couldn't help but smile as she heard the alarms. She pushed her tray away and looked at Ian. "Yea lets get to the bay, but don't get any ideas we aren't friends yet." She said with a wink getting her bag and started to walk towards the bay. She was itching to get into her mech and show these men how to fight in a giant death machine.

Meeting up with the group on the way, Bob decided it was time to have a little prebattle fun. Nudging Jean-Baptiste slightly, he shifts into his idiot facade. "So these are our buddies, eh comrade~~?" Without breaking eye contact, he slowly motions over to Katrina and Ian, his voice upbeat and almost singing. Upon noticing a lack of response, Bob decided to try another approach....
"One of them looks so scruffy...but what a wonderfully pretty man next to him! I wonder what he puts in his hair? My hair is so dry lately. The battlefield is a horrible place for hair, comrade." The (only slightly) passive aggressive rant came out of nowhere, and continued until Jean-Baptiste looked less amused and more ready to murder Bob if he kept going. Hair products...yeah. He'd totally get a foot in that business once he was rich.

At hearing the alarm Saren was quick about making his way over to the armory ignoring the group of people in his way. Inside the armor was where the battle suits were contained in individual lockers though the changing room was co-ed, as after all this was a military operation, and most of the room on the ship was used to house the mechs. Saren ran to his locker where he quickly began putting on his battle suit, and his helmet was the last piece to go on. It clicked, and hissed out as the suit pressurized he felt an uncomfortable stabbing in the base of his neck though it was only for a few seconds before it ebbed away to a dull throb.

Bertrand put up with Bob's patter as best as he could, trying his hardest to tune it all out. Something about hair and hair products. He was sure it was entertaining, but much like being arrested or in a car crash, it was only entertaining when it was happening to someone else and he just wished he didn't have to be subjected to it all as well. Why couldn't he just talk shit like a normal human being. He had to admit calling the girl a man had been funny, though. Openly grinning, he walked along with the rest of the group into the armory/changing room. As he took his own pilot suit out of the locker he took a chance to take a good, long look at Katrina. And then several more, practically rubbing his hands together. She was a pretty one, if not entirely suited to his own tastes, but too much attitude to her. That he didn't like.

John glanced at a man he hadn't met yet but followed his actions when buiting on the battle armour. John found his locker labelled Brooks and opened it. After putting on most of his suit he stared at his helmet, turning it around after he studied the front, then staring at the back for a few more seconds. Finally, he lowered the helmet onto his head. It clicked into place and whirred into action, after a sharp, discomforting pain went through the back of his head, but it dulled away into a light pulsing feeling. However, he felt godlike in this suit, that the power he once possessed flooded back into him, and god did he like that feeling.

Reaching the lockers, Ian took stock of the other pilots so far they looked capable enough. Opening his locker he removed his armor, stepping into it without much ceremony. Removing his helmet from the locker he gripped the left side of it and drew the jawline of the thing down the edge of the locker door, resulting in a small jagged scratch in the paint of the helmet, along side another two. After this he put it on and secured it, gritting his teeth through the jab of pain that occurred as his helmet sealed. Any emotion left his face under his helmet as he steeled himself for the combat ahead, within his mind he ran over the final check list of his suit, insuring everything was in order. Finding it was all satisfactory he smiled and leaned on the wall near the door, waiting for the go ahead to proceed to the Mechs and from there to combat.

Watching other pilots wince slightly while securing their helmets made Bob smile: he’d long since had a port installed in his neck and barely noticed such a trivial sensation. Made it so much easier to process data this way, but that was hardly the issue here. Such stuffy things, these pilot suits. Bob’s natural paranoia constantly screamed at him that such measures were less for streamlined mech controls, and more a leash. Not even removing his sunglasses, he placed the helmet firmly on his head and secured it. Chortling behind his mask, Bob produced a tiny spider like create and sat it on his shoulder.
“Let the experiment begin”

Jean Baptiste didn't wince, though not because he'd had a port installed or anything of the sort, Bob wouldn't have done something like that for him without substantial compensation and he didn't want it anyway. Instead, he clenched his teeth slightly and sucked in air through them, making a hissing sound. It was a strange and mixed reaction. It was pain, yes, and he hated feeling the back of his neck being pierced, for him both a strange reminder of his own vulnerability and proof that Creed had some level of power over him. But at the same time it was quite a rush, to feel the sting and then know himself ready for battle, prepared to become a massive titan created for nothing but destruction. "So...how are we doing this?" he questioned no one in particular, cracking his neck left and right.

Soon Creed's voice came in through the radio preinstalled into the radio.
"Okay kidlins here is how it is gonna go down. Team seattle will be headed by Jean Baptiste with the members Ian, Bob, and Saren. As we are gonna be needing the heavy hitters on this one as there are at least twenty war dogs, and a new type of enemy are attacking the doors to the refugee bunker. We have yet to fully gain complete detail on this new foe as all attempts to scan it have come up short. What we do know is from what we've seen on video feeds, it's shape is much like a war dog's only problem is it's larger, and appears to have three heads. Right now we've decided to call the thing a Cerberus for the greek myth of the three headed dog that guarded the gates of hell. An apt name seeing as it's guarding the other war dogs as they smash through the barriers, and have almost smashed down into the refugee bunker city. It's likely that they'll make it inside if you take too long, which will mean massive casualties as there is a population of twenty thousand innocent civilians currently living in the seattle refugee bunker.

As for the next team heading to california we'll be needing speed as our current coordinates are farther away then seattle by several thousand miles. Meaning we'll be needing John, Katrina, and James to head out there as their mechs are more apt for speed then the others. Currently attacking the bunker is a total of thirty war dogs though have made it through the first door, and are now working on the far thicker second barrier. Though time is of the essence so gods speed all of you, and to all a good hunt."
Creed's voice then broke out as to let them get to their mechs, and deploy.

John listened intently to the mission briefing until it was over. "I've always wanted to go to California" he said aloud. John lightly jogged to his Mech, Centurion. By god was it big, John had never been so close to his personal war machine before but now he can pilot it for a cause. John began to enter the pilot cockpit of Centurion and began calibration, after the mech was calibrated he then began setting up a three way communicarion channel between himself, Katrina and James and then waited for deployment. In the meantime he started getting a true feel to his suit, now it has been hooked up to Centurion, he could feel the grip around his robot's axe, the weight of the wrist mounted shotgun. This was gonna be fun.

Katrina hated getting changed into her suite she felt a lot of eyes on her. Though she didn't look to see who was looking at her it was to embaressing for her. She quickly put on her helmet feeling more secure but winced when she felt the pain in the back of her neck. She then ran out the door heading for the hanger bay. She wanted to get away from the feeling that she was being looked at by guys she didn't even know. She listened to Creed as she walked "thirty war dogs all the way in California...that's ten each" she said to herself. She as she entered the bay and smiled seeing her mech for the first time "hello Daisy" she said before heading for the cockpit.

A slight grin found its way onto Ian's face as the mission was explained. As the briefing finished Ian followed the couple of people who had already gone over to the Mech Bay, quietly humming a small tune as he did so. As he entered into the open area his eyes quickly found the Cataphract and he made his way over to it still quietly humming. He only stopped humming after he had slid himself into the cockpit of his mech. He sat there for a moment in the quiet dark within the machine before reaching out and flicking a few switches that caused a growling whine to be emitted from the machine as the reactor started up. He blinked as his vision lost the outline of the helmet in the peripherals, replacing it with maps, tactical readouts, and the state of various systems within the Mech. "Reactor, online. Weapon systems." Ian brought the Rotary Cannon up, grinning at the passing feeling of disconnect with his arm and the Mech's. With a whir and a locking sound Ian brought it out of safety mode for a moment, before returning it to the mode for transport and continued. " Now online. All other functioning systems, nominal." Now finished Ian keyed his comm "This is Ian with the Cataphract, ready to go."

Jean-Baptiste didn't give a fuck if the walls were breached. He didn't give a fuck if people died, truth be told, and so he just casually strolled down to the mech bay, savoring the feeling of the suit on his body, building up the anticipation for combat. He didn't really care about the details, either, he'd just shoot whatever looked hostile and get his kicks. Unlike so many of his...comrades, he wasn't working under Creed because of some silly notion of mankind's greater good or some "noble" reason why he should fight the invaders, he was in it for the money and the thrills. And what a thrill it was to feel himself locking into place, becoming the massive mechanical titan he had christened the Orlando Furioso. Also unlike his comrades, he was already intimately familiar with his machine and its workings, which were smooth and unobtrusive. He was there to kill things, not act as an IT guy in the middle of battle, and so most of the Orlando's systems were entirely automated and hidden from view unless absolutely necessary. "Get in my way and get killed" were his only words, automatically broadcast to his comm channel.

“How cold, buddy!”
Bob knew that Jean-Baptiste was entering his “I’m going to kill anything that wanders into my general direction” mode and wanted little to do with it….but least he knew what he was doing. The fresh meat eyed their mechs with a sort of eager curiosity that screamed inexperience. Each robot was unique, a work of art, and you couldn’t just thumb through the instruction manual and hope to do well in your first battle. That would be silly. Something of collaboration between Creed’s technology and Bob’s personal requests, he already knew the Moral Justice inside and out. It’s weapons, advanced tactics, the best methods of shield use….so many deliciously evil combinations were possible with this titan among titans. It made him smile, really. Fighting the average grunt was no fun, but a gigantic new unit? Yes, maybe a little field analysis *would* be prudent…
“Three heads, eh fearless leader? Maybe you’d like me to bring one back…”