The C-130 landed with the shocking bump that is the registered trademark of all military pilots. I relaxed into the bump and survived it completely unphazed, which did not make me popular with my two visibly shaken "friends" - at least I don't think the cold glares they gave me are a sign they want to be friends, my knowledge of human social behavior is limited at best. The moment we landed they rear hatch of the C-130 opened and I was hustled out and into a black humvee that took us to a stone gray bunker.
My burly shadows herded me inside and into a windowless room somewhere towards the center of the bunker. The room had a metal table bolted to the ground and two rusty chairs. I assumed that one of the chairs was for me so I sauntered over and dropped unceromoniously into one. The guards twitched but didn't make a move towards me, so I crossed one leg over my knee and sat back in the chair, closing my eyes in the perfect imitation of someone relaxing.
I didn't move when about five minutes T-minutes later the door to the room slid open and someone walked in. My eyes remained closed as he sat down, but I did activate the X-ray bionics in my eyes and scanned him for weapons and was shocked to discover he only had a ballistics knife on him. Someone was feeling a little over confident around his guards.
"L23-QU1-3M," He said in a gruff tenor.
"Requiem," I replied.
He blinked at me before recovering. "I'm sorry," he said. It wasn't an apology. It was more of a nasty sneer that someone gives to a person who they believe is in a station below them when they believe that person has over stepped their bounds.
It didn't affect me at all. "Requiem, it's my name." I told him, this time deigning to open my icy eyes and stare directly into his brown ones.
He raised his head slightly and tried to glare at me - I say try because it wasn't very threatening. "All right then....Requiem....I assume you know you're mission here."
"Course I do, I processed the data on the way over here. Nothing I can't handle, Sir."
"I see," he said, "Well then, we'd like to start out with the training of the guerilla squadron you'll be working with." He tossed a datachip across the table to me. I caught it without looking away from him. "That contains the profile of all the men you'll be working with and it details the series of missions you will be leading." I nodded and slipped the datachip into the datapad on my arm, allowing the datapad to process the data to the cybernetic part of my brain without affecting my ability to communicate with the uniformed man in front of me. The man glared at me again and then waved at one of the guards. The guard walked out of the room and returned with a black bag that the tossed on the table in front of me. "These are the weapons you will be working with."
I opened the bag and pulled out the largest weapon in the bag, an M4A1 Carbine. I inspected it and found it lacking a few areas, but it was nothing that I couldn't fix. I returned the weapon to the bag. "Anything else, Sir?"
"No," He said, then turned to the guards, "Take her to her quarters and get her settled in."
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