[Sol System, Alliance] A Quiet, A Softly Creeping Stillness [close]

Luna

Fort Baikonur burrowed into Luna, Earth half-hidden and glittering in the sky above. The only signs of its existence were the reinforced doors set into the moon’s bone-white surface and a handful of facilities-docks, perimeter fencing and turrets that gaped at any vehicle that strayed near.

To the west were the distant lights of Armstrong, the city slowly healing and being reborn under the tools of Alliance engineers and the exhausted, shell-shocked remnants of Luna’s people. Of the population of over four million, barely a million had survived the orbital bombardments that had split the dome-cities open and the husks that had come after. Those who lived had been in the underground tunnels and sealed off sections of the cities, or at Fort Baikonur.

The base had survived, its very nature-a system of fortified underground bunkers-protecting it.When the husks had come, the Marines and sailors stationed there had fought, with no hope of rescue or even resupply, terrified civilian survivors at their backs.

When the fleets came, three-quarters of the garrison were dead and the survivors were on the verge of starvation, their last heatsinks spent.

Now Fort Baikonur had a shiny new layer of paint and some enterprising individual had spelt out the base’s new motto on the main entrance-and the base’s commander had left it there.

‘We Do Not Yield.’

A shuttle dropped from the dark sky, Earth behind it and thrusters flaring blue in the silent air. As it did, the base’s defences ground into action. First, a flock of Defence Drones buzzed past, darting to and fro like a swarm of hornets until their VIs recognised the shuttle as friendly and they returned to orbiting the base.

“I’d hate for those things to go rogue,” The pilot observed as he brought the shuttle around, its nose down.

“Jesus Christ man, don’t say shit like that,” His co-pilot snapped, eyeing the mass accelerators on the drones with some anxiety.

The pilot rolled his eyes. What a fucking FNG this guy was.

The second layer of defences: the turrets began to track their flight path.

“One or two shots from those things and you’re fucked,” The pilot drawled, “Seen it happen.”

“You’re a wanker. Sir.”

The pilot sent a digital id pass to the base’s VI and one of the entrances opened. The shuttle swept into the maw of Fort Baikoner, slowing to a crawl before settling on a landing pad in the base’ hangar. The interior was sterile and brightly lit, all hard, regulation corners.

“Thank you for flying with Systems Alliance Navy Spaceflights,” The pilot chirped happily. His co-pilot valiantly resisted the urge to strangle him.

A woman was waiting for them, dressed in a crisp uniform, with ‘Navy’ on her chest. When the door of the shuttle folded up, she stepped forward, “Operations Chief Maliszewski?”

***

Elsewhere in the base a Marine was doing what she always did when bored: working out.

While humming along obnoxiously to music twenty years out of date.

The room was full of men and women in Alliance PE gear exercising with the gym equipment. Many had tattoos or scars. All put the few brave sailors who’d ventured into the gym to shame.

If you could say one thing about Hotel Troop of Taskforce November, it was that they were dedicated.

A little ways down the line a kid (and he was a kid, even a too tall stature and broad frame layered with muscle could only go so far) with skin the color of cream and spiked brown hair racked one of the pairs of free weights and then hooked a finger around a cord and pulled out one of his headphones.

“Yo Corporal. You know everyone can hear you singing right?”

Corporal Dahnay Alazar grinned at him, pulling her chin up to the bar, muscles standing out in her arms. The SAMC symbol was tattooed on her shoulder. “Just like everyone hears you mumbling that airy-fairy shit at night, little ‘un. Least this is good.” She then turned up her music so everyone was treated to a band that most people had forgotten about.

Oh. Ouch. Right now the only thing burning more than what the Corporal just dished out was Jason’s cheeks. He mumbled something amidst the scattered, muffled laughter and slid his earpiece back into place.

“I’m just gonna.”

He gestured at the headphones.

“Yeah.”

Time to move up a set. Or two.

***

London

The Yorktown’s Marines had been suddenly and unceremoniously bundled off the ship to Administration District 02. Whereas Maliszewski’s trip had been above the eerie beauty of Luna, the Yorktown Marines were greeted with blackened ruins as far as the eyes could see, a few spots of greenery and intact buildings the sprouting of a recovering society.

When they landed, they stepped out of the shuttle to find a shifting crowd of Londoners clustered outside the Marine barracks. The reason why came quickly apparent: a group of Marines in uniform were handing out crates of supplies-food, clothing, even cooking appliances-before the gate.

As the platoon made their way through the crowd, some of the civilians nodded or even smiled in greeting. Others stared at them, eyes blank and apathetic(those were the majority, the ones who looked like the sky could crack open above them and they would simply not care). Yet others glared, eyes sharp and hot.

“Go right on through, “ One of the marines handing out supplies told them, “Lieutenant Ryeom is waiting for you.”

The Yorktown contingent passed into the facility, past the guards. A Mako was parked before one of the barracks, a mechanic in blue overalls swearing in Hindu as she tinkered with the engine, grease on her hands and a scowl on her face.

As the Marines milled around, a Korean man with the golden bars of a Second Lieutenant on his shoulders came forward, “Welcome to London. How much have you been told about your task here?”

Fort Baikonur

Not a few days after the Tuchanka operation and Everett was already being transferred. It was so sudden, too; no buildup, not even a hint of what was to come. The notice just came right out of the blue, and suddenly, Everett was no longer commanding Goliath squad or under the command of Captain Aarnes. What bothered him even more was the transfer destination; he was being sent to Fort Baikonur, located all the way back at Luna. Why was he being sent somewhere so close to home? He speculated through most of the flight to Luna, ignoring the pilots' banter, trying to figure out what the reason for sending him there was. He would only get solid answers once he actually reached the base, of course. The wait made him very uneasy.

Seeing that familiar, distant blue marble once the shuttle began its descent helped a bit with the anxiety, though. These days, the sight of Earth from space always reminded him of the war, and how the homeworld was nearly reduced to an uninhabitable wasteland... much like Palaven was. Everett always wondered how the turians were able to live with the fact that the world they originated from was basically dead. Knowing that the same fate nearly befell his own homeworld made Everett appreciate Earth's continued existence more than ever.

Same went for moon, to a lesser extent. The downside of having a colony on a moon with no atmosphere was that if it was besieged, it wouldn't take much to kill most of the population. All the Reapers had to do was breach the domes and let space do most of the work. They could've easily wiped them out, but the machines wanted to harvest the Lunar population, not annihilate them. This was probably what allowed the remaining fourth of the original population to survive. Hell, sick as it was, the harvest was probably what gave the galaxy a chance to fight back. The Reapers could've easily just exterminated everyone right off the bat, if they chose to do so.

Everett's train of thought was broken when the shuttle shook upon hitting the landing pad. He was here. With a sigh, the N7 stood up, clad in his Demolisher-class armor, and stepped out once the shuttle door opened up. Once he was greeted by the female officer, he straightened up, clicked his heels together and swung his hand up to his forehead in a sharp salute.

"Yes ma'am," He answered tersely, "Lieutenant Kaitlyn Mather, I presume?"

Exhale.

Lift.

Hold.

Release.

Inhale.

Repeat.

Eyes the color of fresh, loamy earth, the color of old and aged bark flicked up into the mirror, holding Alazar and Hawke in their gaze for a moment, before focusing back on the man in the mirror. Watching his form carefully (it was the last couple that you tended to let yourself slack on) as his arms worked in tandem, slablike muscles pulling and relaxing as he raised the barbel bar to his chest, held it, and lowered it back parallel with his elbows. Like the rest of 3rd Squad and, indeed, military personnel the galaxy over, Joshua held that there were few cures for cabin fever as potent as a deep, steady, burn.

Dahnay had the right idea with that at least, even if her taste in music was absolute shit (Joshua had to take the Private's side in this one, oldies were oldies for a reason). Actually, speaking of the two

She's turning it up. Oh God why?

he glanced back again, quietly noting the flush that probably had more to do with the Ethiopian woman currently grooving out to some overrated diva than the weights in his hand. For a moment he considered something along the lines of "Play nice kids" before tagging it as a lost cause. Jason was the baby of 3rd Squad and, to make matters worse, had a habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve (poetry if you could believe it but, eh, to each their own). This all, of course, meant that he was entitled to certain perks and privileges as stipulated under Military Seniority Clause Twelve, Subsection Five:

All senior members of the squad reserve the right to give you shit about anything and everything.

But Vukovic had to give the younger man some credit really. He could take a joke which was more than the NCO could say for a lot of other people.

He paused and took a moment to widen his stance before settling back into the rhythm of things.

Exhale.

Lift.

Hold.

Release.

Inhale.

Repeat.

London

The journey to the city had been a pensive one for the Yorktown Marines, for several reasons. Their destination was, after all, where the last battle had been fought, and a few of the veteran squad members had either been, or knew people who'd been a part of Hammer. The sheer destruction and lives lost in that final desperate push were underlined at the sight of the charred husks that were once habitable buildings. This had been Admiral Anderson's city, the birthplace of the hero who kept Earth from being smothered in the dark. Here he had been born, and here had he and so many others had come to die.

One of the junior marines, his face hidden behind the black visor of his helmet, contemplated the shattered city as he and his fellows put their boots on the ground. He'd been elsehwere when the war ended, fighting for his life and the lives of others, before witnessing the victory born from that enigmatic flash of sapphire energy. He'd been fighting and fleeing for several days by then. The people of London had been subjected to the same for months.

His thoughts were somehwat somber, until he saw the civillians. For all their myriad expressions, welcoming, ambivalent, apathetic, or even spiteful, all of it was inconsequential to one simple truth: they were alive. And just like when London was consumed by fire in 1666, so to would the city live on and heal from its wounds.

The marine trailed behind his fellows, just one more helmeted face with the Alliance emblem on his shoulder. They went into the facility, past the guards, to meet the 2nd Lieutenant. The junior marine glanced at the mechanic working on the Mako, before straightening and saluting at the korean officer. Sergeant Wyeth, the ranking Yorktown Marine present thus far, and the sole biotic among the Yorktown's marine contingent, answered for his fellow marines.

"Glad to be here sir. From what they told us, we're going to be shouldering the responsibilities for one of the platoons garrisoned here until another can be rotated in properly."

Which lead to the other reason why the Yorktown Marines were pensive. Everyone knew about the murder of Carlos Suarez. An officer, and a war hero to boot, no marine was taking his death, and the manner in which it was supposedly done, very well, to say the least. Realizing that leaving a potentially vengeful platoon of marines to fester at the loss of one of their own was a bad idea, someone in the Brass had decided that they were to be rotated out of London immediately, to prevent any witchunts or retaliations, justified or otherwise.

Still, Suarez's platoon had responsibilities that couldn't be left untended, and since this lacked the orderliness of an average platoon rotation, someone had to fill in for them, before a more long term solution could be utilized. Cue the marines from the Yorktown, to fill in until a new platoon could be garrisoned properly.

Vohkaidin Knox hoped, as he recalled the less friendly looks they'd received outside, that the transition would be a simple one.

In direct contrast to all the military personnel milling around the base stood Agent Dimitra Kozlova. With her threadbare coat, featureless civvies and the intricate tattoos creeping from her left shoulder up her neck she looked more like a down on her luck merc than any sort of Alliance employee. That suited her fine.

She could feel the buzz of nervous energy as she drummed her fingers on her thighs, the entire situation stank. It felt like every other soldier she passed in the hall was an N. That alone told her a lot of firepower was being massed here. And the higher ups had felt the need to send her here, usually her jobs involved gunfire and explosions, that was her specialty after all. Combine that with Spec Ops? It painted an interesting picture, the Navy and the AIA at least were collaborating on something big, that much was blatantly obvious. But why on Luna? Perhaps they were to be deployed on Earth? If so things were a lot worse down there than anyone was talking about.

Well if she got to crack some heads that was all good with her. She'd been cooped up too long and one little barfight in Tayseri was far from enough to curb her appetites.

Luna

The Navy officer returned the salute, speaking as her hand dropped back to her side, "Staff Lieutenant Arai actually. Navy Intelligence. I'll take you to Commander Adalseinn. I trust your trip was comfortable?"

Well. Military shuttles couldn't really be described as comfortable in all honesty.

Arai didn't wait for his answer before walking deeper into the base. The only personnel in armour were those on guard duty who stood , stone-faced, their Valkyrie rifles cradled in their arms as Arai led him through the corridors, pausing so they could scan their military IDs.

***

Alazar laughed out loud as Jason returned to his weights. Kid was far too much fun to mess with that she just couldn't help herself sometimes.

Her amusement was cut short by the base's intercom sounding, "3rd Squad, Hotel Troop, Agent Kozlova, report to Commander Adalseinn."

She held the last the chin up before letting herself fall back to the floor, landing lightly, "Hey Chief, isn't Kozlova that spook hanging around?"

***

London

Returning the salute, Ryeom nodded to the sergeant, "That's correct. You'll be taking over their patrols mostly. On that subject, I have a message from the Sergeant Major here at the barracks." He raised his voice, "Current standing orders are not to provoke the local populace. Lethal force is to be used only if absolutely necessary to save your own life or that of your comrades and civilians. Non-lethal force is reserved for self-defence. You are to detain civilians only if they present a clear threat or if ordered to do so. And if anyone fights with the locals, the Sergeant Major assures you that he will ensure whoever is involved will get a NJP they'll never forget."

Near Vohk, Private Rajapaske eyed her surroundings. She hadn't thought she'd come back here. She wasn't sure how she felt about it.

Ah, whoops. Arai it was, then. The N7 operative nodded to the intelligence officer and began to follow her through the corridors.

"As comfortable as a shuttle ride can get, really. Which isn't much," He answered with a slightly lopsided smirk. The facial scarring could be blamed for that.
"You know, LT... to be honest, I didn't expect to be transferred here on such short notice. I spent most of this tour away from Sol, so this came as a pretty big surprise." He paused to activate his omni-tool and allow his ID to be scanned. "Wonder what made them decide to bring me back..."

He gingerly lowered the bar back into the rack and started pulling off the weights, headphones safely stored away in a pocket, before replying. It wasn't that the veritable giant of a man was slow in the head or had trouble thinking through situations that didn't involve the words "shoot" and "kill" (rare was the dumb thug who made it through Rio, rarer still was the dumb thug who made it through the Villa and into the role of squad leader and Service Chief), no he was just a...well a kind of quiet guy. Preferred to think things over thoroughly before opening his mouth and making a jackass of himself.

"Lady with the tats yeah? Seen her around here and there. Think that-

'Ey. Najjar?"

"Yeah Chief?" The squad's sole (and therefore reigning as she was so fond of reminding them) Adept-class peeled her face off the towel she had been using to wipe the sweat from her eyes.

"You ran into Kozlova the other day right?"

"If you could call it that." A pause for a swig of water before the woman resumed. "More like passed her in the hall, didn't exactly look like a people person honestly."

Great.

Agency jobs were, well far be it for a lowly NCO like him to complain about upholding the security and sovereignty of the Systems Alliance and humanity as a whole, but agency jobs with tended to suck the big one. Agents providing oversight thought of the men as "assets", the men tended to think of the agents as jumped up desk jockeys with an ego to match, and around and around it went till everyone involved needed a good drink and a good woman (or man) to destress.

"Mmm." Shoulders rose and fell. Well they'd just have to see when they saw wouldn't they? No point breaking out the cardboard signs and sandwich boards before they even knew which way was up.

"Alazar. St. James." He jerked his head at the others. Even off the battlefield there were certain constants and the fireteam leaders making sure that their men made it from Point A to Point B present and accounted for was one of them.

It was time to go.

And that was her cue. Dimitra turned from the window to the outside she'd been staring through. There was a harsh beauty in the lunar landscape though she spared little time to appreciate it. When you had been doing infiltration jobs for more than a couple of years all you began to see were possible routes, entrances and exits. She did not mention this though, she figured that the AIA would be less than appreciative of one of their agencies thinking, even idly, about infiltrating Alliance Navy assets.

Kozlova walked down the hall lighting up a cigarette and taking the opportunity for a few drags before she had to enter the briefing. At least she assumed it was a briefing. Regardless in her experience Alliance officers tended to be unappreciative of smoking when they were trying to talk to you. She wasn't really a people person true enough but she wasn't going to unnecessarily antagonize anyone. Well... not while on duty anyway, after hours was a whole 'nother story.

She came to the door and stubbed her cigarette out on her boot before walking in. She wondered vaguely whether she should be trying to appear professional or not. What did a professional spy even look like? In her experience mostly like her, in short, not much. She didn't greet the Commander right off the bat, simply stood and waited, he'd acknowledge her when he was ready. Besides if there was one thing that annoyed marines more than being forced to work with civilians, it was working with civilians who tried to imitate them.

Sergeant Wyeth nodded at the 2nd Lieutenants instructions, frowning slightly, as the his fellow marines relaxed slightly, and ceased saluting after Ryeom had reciprocated.

" Understood sir. Sounds like SOP for dealing with civilian population centers, and I can assure you and the Sergeant Major that my marines and I won't give you any cause for concern."

Wyeth promised, his voice firm. Vohkaidin and some of the other marines nodded: They knew their duty. The Yorktown was comprised of many Navy Serviceman and Marines of differing experience and rank, but they all knew what was expected of them.

Vohk ignored the twinge of unease he felt as the officer relayed the Sgt Major's message. It remindedhim of Thessia, being constrained by a similar SOP, though in the Alliance's favor, this was far more reasonable, and took greater lengths to ensure the safety of the marines and the people they were defending. His attempt to safely lead the reconstruction mission on Nartin had been crippled by the outset with regulations that had been clearly set down by some bureaucrat who'd never expected them to deal with any real danger.

Here, at least, he wouldn't have to worry about not having armor protecting him if things went south. He glanced at Rajapaske, who'd been transfered to the Yorktown alongside him after that initial mission in the Asgard system. He wondered if something was bothering her, and resolved to ask when he got the chance. The normally tough as nails marine wasn't the type to seem distracted.

Meanwhile, Wyeth was still speaking with Lieutenant Ryeom. The biotic sounded slightly concerned."Have there been any incidents with the civilians? After..."

He paused, not quite bringing it up, but anyone present knew what he was referencing: Had the death of Carlos Suarez prompted hostility between marines and the locals, or vice versa? Vohk hoped not. Dealing the with the legacy of pissed off marines wasn't going to make their job an easier.

Luna

Arai gave Everett a considering look. Special Forces always tended to be a little...less formal. The Staff Lieutenant spoke as she led him into what seemed to be the base's HQ, "I'm sure it was, Operations Chief. This is my first tour in Sol as well. Spent most of my career in the Traverse," It wasn't an answer to the question he hadn't quite asked, though there was the glint of knowledge in her eyes.

They came to a door leading into a briefing room.

She opened it and stepped into the meeting, coming to attention to salute the man waiting for them. Commander Adalseinn was a short man with short dark hair and pale eyes like bits of ice. Three fingers on his left hand were quite obviously cybernetic, glinting silver in the light of the room.

***

Corporal Alazar sprang into action, herding her fireteam to get changed into their utility uniforms and then through the warren-like base. Some found it oppressive, being stationed here and longed for the open skies of a garden world base. Alazar didn't mind too much. They'd spent months in worse places during her career.

The members of 3rd Squad filtered into the briefing room, falling silent and saluting the commander almost as one before standing at ease.

Alazar's eyes went to the guy in the N7 armour and an eyebrow crept up her forehead and a slight smile to her lips.

***
London

Ryeom nodded approvingly, "Make sure of that, Sergeant." His eyes settled on the Yorktown Marines. At the question, he frowned slightly, "There have been a few...incidents," He grimaced, "Fights and the like."

Rajapaske noticed Knox's look but there was a frown tugging at her face and she didn't respond beyond a slight shake of her head. Her hands clenched and then unclenched.

Vohk saw Rajapaske's hands go through the motions of clenching, and is struck by a memory of two years ago, of his wife, Helena's hands shaking with terror even as she struggled to keep them busy, and to not give in to her fear.

The thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth, even as he shrugged the memories away. The circumstances and the people were different. It would be a disservice to Rajapaske to make any assumptions about the nature of whatever distressed her.

Wyeth narrowed his gaze slightly at Ryeom, inwardly beginning to feel that age old irritation soldiers felt when they realized their superior was being less help than hindrance. Since he couldn't dress down a LT for heming and hawing, he reigned in his annoyance, and contented himself with raising an eyebrow, as though to say"...and?"

Then he realized that Ryeom might be a little too thick for that subtley, (hopefully not, no one wants a moron for CO) so he just asked out loud. "Anything serious?"

Don't leave anything out that I need to know, please. Last thing I need is for one of my men to step into a social landmine without knowing how to avoid or disarm it.

Everett said nothing more after Arai's simple response. He would've continued the conversation, but they'd already arrived at the command center. He wasn't expecting her to respond like that. After spending so much time with his fellow N operatives, he'd forgotten that intelligence officers tended to be a bit more... well, he didn't want to say uptight. Professional was a nicer way of putting it. Arai didn't seem to mind much, though, which made the walk much less uncomfortable than it could've been.

Once he stepped inside, Everett was met with the sight of Commander Adalseinn himself. A single glance at his eyes and cybernetics made one thing clear to the OpChief; the war had scarred this man, both physically and mentally, much it scarred Everett. It left a mark on everyone who bore witness to its horrors.

The N7 saluted the officer. "Commander. Operations Chief Everett Maliszewski, reporting for duty, sir." He then glanced to the left to see an entire squad standing silently nearby. Huh... he didn't notice them when he came in. He wondered, was this the unit he was transferred to? What were they called again... 2nd squad, Hotel Troop?
From Goliath to Hotel, Everett thought, alright then.

Hands clasped behind their backs, feet about shoulder width apart, eyes forward, pay attention and speak only if asked a direct question. Easy enough, even if it wasn't an instinctual response at this point.

For some, for a lot really, of civvies standing straight and still for long periods of time without being able to say a word was the definition of torture. But after you've done it in the freezing rain, for meals, and (on the odd occasion) for sleep; well doing it for a fifteen minute briefing wasn't that bad.

Usually the most nerve wracking thing was the possibility that Alazar might say something stupid. Joshua didn't have to glance over, he could tell that she wanted to right now; he could practically hear her smartass comment in his head.

"So who are we killing?"

Only this time he was right with her, because honestly, this was a bit out there, even for them. An N7 operator in full armor, an AIA spook, and the Commander of the goddamn Fort itself. And then them, a full squad off November. A nice little mix, add them all together and what did you get?

Something big.

Something really fucking big.

And probably really fucking bad too.

Please don't be a Prefect, please don't be a Prefect, please don't be a Prefect.

The slight woman glanced briefly at the soldiers as they walked in. This entire thing was piquing her interest to say the least. She hadn't been attached to a marine squad since the war. This was indeed something big. She still had trouble believing that things on Earth were that bad. Maybe it there was terrorist activity somewhere else in the system? She hadn't heard about it if so. Or maybe this was about that marine who was murdered in London the other day. If so this felt like overkill. And if word got out that the Alliance was responding to the murder with spec ops and spies... well that would ratchet up the tensions quite nicely. If this was about that murder... things on Earth were coming to a head. She did not like the implications.

And she showed it too. Dimitra scowled slightly as her mind ran through the possibilities. This was going to be a mess if this was about Earth, she had no doubt of it.

Luna

Corporal Alazar was in fact thinking that very thing. She did thankfully remain silent, but she was still smirking. She didn't
mind too much what their target was or whether it was on earth or in Sol-she just wanted to get out of this base before she exploded from boredom. Which wouldn't be good for anyone.

Her eyes settled on the N7, curious.

Adalseinn rose to return the salutes before settling into one of the chairs around the table. "Welcome to Fort Baikonur,Operations Chief. Take a seat, all of you."

When they were settled, the Commander spoke again, "Lieutenant Arai will be giving this briefing. Arai, if you will?"

The Staff Lieutenant began handing out secure datapads,"I shouldn't have to repeat this, but due to a certain unit on-baseI have instructions to do so anyway. All information discussed in this briefing is classified confidential. That means that it must be accessed only on secure datapads or terminals-not your omnitools. If you want to dispose of it in the future, use the specially-provided wiping program installed on said datapads, not your recycle bin." That over with, Arai moved on, tapping on the Alliance symbol holo that was rotating in the middle of the conferance table so it transformed into a copy of what was displayed on their datapads.

Alazar scowled at her datapad for a moment before smoothing her face.

"Introductions first," The Intelligence Officer smiled easily, "Operations Chief Maliszewski, N7, and Agent Kozlova of the AIA will be seconded to 3rd Squad for the duration of this operation. Service Chief Vukovic," She gestured at the giant of a man, "Is squad leader and Corporal Dahnay Alazar is the 2IC. You will be working together. Any orders to 3rd Squad must be done through their chain of command, clear?"

She went on without waiting for an answer, "I'm sure you've all heard of Lieutenant Suarez's murder." The datapads and the holo flipped to a picture of a smiling Cuban man and then the crime report.

The holos were...unpleasant.

***

London

Ryeom grimaced, "Some members of Suarez's platoon thought it would be a good idea to attack a few locals known to be separatists. Peaceful protesters mostly, but their friends joined in. There were a few injuries before MPs stepped in and the local resistance leader is kicking up a fuss. The night after, a few rocks were thrown at patrol cars. There have been no further incidents as of yet."

Rajapaske folded her arms to stop herself fidgeting. It was practically peaceful here compared to the last time she'd been here. Anything was peaceful compared to the last time she'd stood on this ground.

"Ever been to London before?" She asked Knox quietly.

Vohk glanced back at Rajapaske, and, quietly, since the officers were still talking, whispered back.

"Can't say I have. You?"

Wyeth meanwhile, was openly grimacing.

Assaulting protesters. Fucking perfect.

If anyone under his command had... well. No need to belabor the point. He'd be pissed, Suarez or no.

"I see. Well, I'll make sure we don't have any repeat incidents with my men, sir. Was there anything else? I'd like to get our gear stowed."

Joshua took his seat and was grateful for it. You found your rest where you could in the Corps and, well, if it was one briefing he didn't have to spend on his feet he wasn't complaining. Funnily enough though it actually felt a bit more awkward than merely standing around the edges of the room, tables implied a degree of equality between the participants of the discussion and he was

well

Special forces were not blunt instruments by any stretch of the means, the kind of work they did was not kind to the people who only had a hammer in their mental toolbox, but there was a distinct difference between, say, commanding a squad in the field and being placed on relatively equal footing with a Company Man and the best of the best of the best. Even if it was only in terms of a clear delineation of respective spheres of authority it was still somewhat...odd to be grouped so.

He kept quiet, if only out of habit, the only two expressions the reflexive cringe at the mention of that unit yes that one (seriously, who even does that? damned disrespectful to everyone else who has to work with you and put up with the fresh bullshit being dropped on you from above now) and an intense, almost clinical look at the crime scene holos.

He was no stranger to death. They were, after all, in the business of death, working with it side by side every time they went into a combat zone. But still, after all this time, it never got any easier seeing mangled bodies of the men and women who wore the blue.

You just had to get better at stuffing it down and moving on, because there was a job to do here, there was always a job to do, and he was nothing if not professional.

Out of the corner of his eye and the corner of his mind he could see his squad doing what they normally did when served up this kind of information on a plate, the benefit of years of service together. St. James would be silently tapping fishbelly pale fingers against the arm of the chair, contemplating his pad. Kitching would be unconsciously chewing on the corner of her mouth, her individual copy ignored in favor of the larger version. May would be quietly passing Alazar back her dataslate under the table, the information translated into Oromo off his 'tool (it was for the best after she broke the language processing feature on her last OT).

As one they studied and waited patiently for Lieutenant Arai to continue. No vocalizations, no exclamations of horror, merely taking extreme, pointed, interest, like hounds that have caught a scent.

Dimitra inspected her dataslate while occasionally glancing at her compatriots. Pretty much what she'd expected, no outward display of what they were looking at, there were some nervous tics here and there, but that was normal enough. The crime scene holos were pretty ugly, seeing them now lent a little more credence to the suspicions of some kind of ritualistic killing. Her first reaction had been to assume sensationalist reporting... which it probably was. But in this case it also might not be too far off. That seemed like confirmation though, they were going to Earth because of this murder. All her instincts were telling her this would get ugly. Her eyes flicked back up to the Lieutenant waiting for her to continue.