As the team arrived at the base of the newly created special Ops group, they were quickly and oddly quietly given a tour of the base. They were showed the hangar were the mechas were stored,The hangar was a large multiple story area with various arms and tools used to repair the mechas. Inside the team could see their mechas being moved and stored as well as having simple diagnostics performed.Nearby were the scientist’s and engineer’s living quarters. When not working this is where they rested.
“We’ll start off here. This is the hanger and just up there hall, there, are the civilian quarters. I’d recommend getting to know the engineers they can be an odd bunch.” The soldier giving the tour said.

Then they were moved to the mess hall, It was a large room counters lining on side and several large benches were placed in the middle, as well as some simple vending machines were placed around it.
“If I were you guys, I’d make sure to be here on chili nights. Something about the way they cook that Beefalope makes it so tender.”
Next they were shown the pilot's lounge, a place for the mech pilots exclusively to hangout. Several halls were could be seen branching off the main room leading to each of the pilot's private quarters. Each being assigned one unceremoniously and with a hint of envy. They wouldn't have to wonder why as soon after they were shown the barracks that housed the rest of the military personnel, such as the soldier leading the tour.
"And this is where us little guys sleep and hangout. Might not be as nice as your guys' but feel free to stop by and say hello, most of us don't bite." He said with a smirk.

They then crossed the training yard. A large open area with various ball courts and exercise equipment. Next to it a large open field that was well kept and often used for simple training exercises.
“This is often used for our daily training, feel free to use it whenever and feel free to join us from time to time.”

Then the armory, It was a secure room with some guards. Inside housed lockers of all sorts of small arms. “This is well….Probably pointless but...let’s move on.”
They were led down a small hallway to Mission Control. A small room with computers lining the wall and desks. Several people were sitting at the desks monitoring data that came in. On the biggest screen the pilots could see a map of the world with pulses flashing each with various numbers nearby.

“Here is where the crew monitors all the data and determines the Kaiju’s paths and probable points of conflict.”
Finally they were escorted down to a large room with a circular table and chairs surrounding it. The room was oddly blank and housed some boxes and crates marked as various supplies and electronics.

“And here we have the Briefing room. Pardon the mess. We’re still getting things set up in here.” He motioned to the boxes and crates in the room. “It’ll be really nice when we get those monitors hooked up. Well seems like we’re a bit early. I’ll leave you to it. You shouldn’t be waiting to long, The commander is never late.” The soldier did a small salute before leaving the room.

They sat there for a bit before one noticed the clock. The Commander was, at this point, two minutes late.

“Well," thought Raza. This was not what he had been expecting. Far from it, in fact. He had allowed himself to be taken on the tour along with what he assumed were trainees, looking forward to meeting the other mission pilots that had doubtless arrived earlier. But by the time they had been shown their rooms, Raza’s doubts were forming. Now they were all but confirmed. There were no real pilots. Instead, a recent graduate dressed like he already knew everything about the world. A woman his wife’s age dressed like a teenager, another who looked like she had never even seen the inside of a mecha, much less touched the controls. One more in the back with a scowl that would curdle milk. This, this motley crew were the specialized task force being brought together to maintain balance in the world. What a joke.

But he would make due. First by requesting that some real pilots be brought on to the mission. Second by making sure that that the others knew they had no business here, despite whatever dreams the comedians in Zeitlund had put in their heads. Raza was a man of action, and of duty. ‘irradat Alsahra had chosen him to protect mankind. It would be so.

Raza broke the silence. If even the upper echelons of the military were so incompetent as to be late, he would have to take charge.

“Speak,” he said. “I would know your names.”

“...don’t... don’t do this to me. I thought you were proud of me. For once... I thought you’d be proud.”

As he stepped out of the limousine’s back door and into the brisk Rastivania air, Everard shivered as he pressed the cold metal of the phone against his face.
It wasn’t as cold as the voice on the other end.

“Just… fine. You know what? Fine. You’re right, I am an adult, I don’t need you, and I’ll get in the way of whatever I bloody please.
Go phone up Gerald, he was always your favorite. Don’t ever call me again.”

Cut off. He’d been cut off. He’d spent his life living in the lap of luxury, and now it was gone.

“I was willing to support you when it was the Combat League” had said the voice.
“You were getting your degree, you were working hard, it was letting you blow off steam. Now you go and join some group of Kaiju-hating radicals?
You so much as touch a hair on Scylla’s heads boy, and you get in the way of my money.
Nobody gets in the way of my money.”

He blinked back tears. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t…
He looked for the entrance to the base.

---

Feh, what a small hangar. Blackbourne Industries’ secondary shipyard was at least twice as big, but at least it looked like Rhet was being given proper care… is what Everard wanted to be thinking. In reality, he hadn’t felt this self-conscious since high school. Looking up at the quintet of mecha above, it seemed his own was the only custom build among them. The rest were modifications of existing models he’d either encountered in his research or faced off against first-hand in the ring. Thinking about it all wrenched the knot in his stomach even tighter: he’d learned the hard way that flaunting wealth wasn’t the best way to make friends, whether intentionally or not.

Oh, and The freakin’ Arbiter was there. Everard didn’t know of the pilot - he hadn’t really taken note of many people’s names when looking up machine specs as inspiration - but it could only be the intimidating hulk of a presence in the front. The pair was no joke; he’d read more than one forum post raving about how it had lost entire limbs during fights, only to keep pummeling its quarry at nigh-full capacity. What a monster.

In this hallway of giants, of metal golems and (he assumed) legendary pilots, the young graduate from Obern - the boy who had spent his entire life looking down on others - felt very, very small.

---

As intimidated and underqualified as he felt, Everard knew how to posture with the best of them. When the tattooed man seemed to grow impatient and gave an order to the group, it set off every alarm his high-society training had imbedded within him. He wouldn’t be spoken down to. Not by anyone but his direct superior.

Without even looking the man in the eye - and certainly without skipping a beat - Ev produced an embroidered silk handkerchief from his breastpocket, held his glasses in his right hand and began cleaning them, eyes half closed, an expertly practiced disinterest to his demeanor. There was still the slightest hint of red to his eyes, from the tears, but he didn't care. No one would know.

“Calm yourself, muscleface. If the Commander isn’t here yet, my name is none of your, nor anyone else here’s concern. You’ll have to be patient like the rest of us.”

Finished with the left lens, he began cleaning the right.

“Now, if everyone else is done wasting time on frivolities like titles, what say you we discuss our machines themselves? I’ll be trusting my life out there to your piles of rust, so we all ought to be aware of everything there is to know about them. Strengths, weaknesses, preferred fighting style. How about you go first, since you seem so incapable of sitting still for upwards of two minutes?”

A deep breath. A long, deep breath. Raza closed his eyes. Were he still at the monastery, he would have challenged the impudent brat to single combat and taught him his place. But he knew his own role in the grander scheme, and it was not yet that of disciplinarian. Not yet.

Uncrossing his arms to place fingers on a furrowed brow, Raza chuckled internally. He recalled the difficulty he had caused his own parents as an adolescent. By Aleta’s wings, he was not looking forward to the day his own children would be that age.

Raza turned to address the boy.

“The Arbiter,” he said slowly, measured, “is a tool of judgement that wields its strength to bring life to those in need and death to those who disturb the balance of the world. Its weakness,” he continued, eyes locked to those of his interlocutor, intent on meeting his gaze should it ever leave the floor. “Its weakness is that, as part of a team, it must rely on others to accomplish its task. So let me ask you, boy. With a demeanor like your own, are you intent on being The Arbiter’s weakness?”

Alexandria trailed at the rear of the pack as the diverse group of pilots were lead point-by-point through the compound that was to be their new base of operations. Even with their guide's casual demeanor, she simply couldn't keep herself from shaking with excitement as each part of the facility was introduced to them. No, excitement wasn't quite right. Anxiety? Giddyness? What was the word...?

Ah, yes. COLD. She had known that the people selected for this initiative would be congregating in Rastivania. She thought she had prepared accordingly. However, never in her life had she anticipated that such abyssal depths of frigidity could even exist on the planet's surface. Her idea of unbearable cold was standing in front of the freezer with the door open for a few seconds. This was something else entirely. Alexandria gazed grimly at the floor as she plodded along behind the others, drawing the woolen coat she had procured specifically for this purpose tightly around her as if that would prevent more of her body heat from escaping. The scientist silently reminded herself that this climate wasn't simply a miserable inconvenience, though, and that her own temporary discomfort was just a small drop in the bucket compared to what the region as a whole had faced. It was a chilling reminder of what the indiscriminate killing of kaiju could lead to, and that even worse might be in store for them if they failed in their mission.

By the time Alexandria had disembarked that depressing train of thought, the group had already arrived at the briefing room. In spite of circumstances, she was immediately and hoplessly in love. The barren, inconspicuous furniture, the unseemly amounts of clutter. It was just like her office back home. As the group filtered into the room, she squeezed through the doorway and quickly moved to take one of the chairs. Once seated, she drew her knees up into her chest and wrapped her coat around her legs to consolidate their warmth. It was all very scientific. She either ignored or didn't notice the indeterminate quantity of weird looks this earned her. No sooner had she finished folding into her cocoon than the man whose line of sight she had very intently been trying to avoid like a particularly dangerous, muscular, tattooed kaiju spoke up.

"Speak. I would know your names."

Alexandria decided that she would, uh, graciously hold off and allow someone else the opportunity to answer him first. It didn't take long, as the younger man in the group almost immediately volunteered a rather snippy response. She widened her eyes for a moment, half expecting the first man to reach over and rip his head off on the spot. Thankfully, he managed to restrain himself and simply respond with a similarly terse quip of his own instead. Okay, no manslaughter yet. That was a good start. However, if these two kept going at it, things might get out of hand. She couldn't afford to sit back and allow this exchange to run its course any longer. Her face set with determination, she spoke.

"This is... good! We're having a dialogue. I'm very glad that both of you are taking this seriously, um, in your own ways." As she continued, she stood from her seat and adjusted her glasses, speaking with almost a matronly tone now. "As we all know, the most work can be done on an object if the energy is applied in the same direction, so I'm really looking forward to working with you all. My name is Alexandria Godotta. I'm an ecologist from Selvagran. Most of my acquaintances call me Lexi." She paused for a moment and took a deep breath, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, but she continued nonetheless.

"The mech Selvagran supplied for this mission is an observation frame used to monitor kaiju in the wild. It's equipped with a cloaking system, and it's been modified with a rail gun that can fire specialized ammunitions." She smiled and turned to the younger man. Surely this would interest him. "Er, so I'm told. Right now, it's carrying tracker rounds and tranquilizers. If we're lucky, we may be able to pacify any kaiju we come across without killing them. Um, I didn't give it a cool name like 'The Arbiter' though." She concluded, turning to the other fellow and giving a good natured laugh. She stood silently for a moment and awkwardly scratched the back of her head head before sitting back down and staring at her boots. Hopefully, everybody would be more open to discussion now that she'd cleared the air by publicly humiliating herself.

Mikan had been holed up in a rather modest, or she assumed modest since it was about as small as her apartment, hotel room for a few days, having to send out others for food and any supplies she suddenly thought of. She was glad though because the Raskal weather did not agree with her. At least the parts of her that weren't totally covered. But, hopefully the MIRACLE HQ would be bit more lenient with where she'd be able to pace to and from, and have the heat blazing. Well, she'd see in a few hours at least, the troops she had dealt with so far had been punctual, if not in a rush at times.

She'd been an early arrival, not that she had to wait more than a few minutes before, she assumed everyone, arrived anyways. It was hard to get a general read on the group, but they all certainly felt like they fit a role from just their looks. Looks she started piecing with their mechs. The woman in glasses was clearly an expert, not needing more than completely unmodified Selvan recon mech to join the group. One of the two Sarajul had brought their own country's standard operation mech too, though modified to a certain degree. She guessed the woman as the tattooed man looked just like the beast of a mech that too bore tattoos. The last, other than her own Rankaku, wasn't anything she recognized and must have belonged to the young man. She imagined he must have been some sort of ace and packed a hefty sum of wealth into it, judging by his nice clothes.

Before long the five pilots found themselves seated and waiting for 'the commander', no name given. In fact none of their names had been given to each other, a problem the Sarajul man decided to address. In the most a****** way possible. Luckily the young ace was quick enough to retort that she didn't have to. Unluckily, he was apparently also an a**. Then it was the woman in glasses turn, something about the way she talked about her mech was throwing Mikan off, but it was probably just due to her acting like she'd just been shot. Mikan was glad she didn't have to turn on 'nervous' on NVOX if she didn't want to and hit 'enter'.

"You know if this team building exercise was going to about speaking I was going to sit out of it."
"But since someone is being friendly about it, it's only fair to trade names. Mine's Mikan."
"I guess I'm the team medic, and I pilot the white mech out there with the A A Guns, Rankaku."

Between each burst of words there was a small pause filled with the clacking of keys as Mikan typed them out. She'd gotten used to the 100 character limit pretty fast and typed with the speed and precision of an expert as to waste as little time as possible and make the conversation feel 'more natural' for other people.

Giving a little time for the information to sink it, she clattered away a little slower, so that people also knew she was about to say something else.

"As far as my role on the field, well it is part of the team, as are we all I'd assume."
"To question any of our skills seems foolhardy at best, after all it is us five sitting here."
"Not any one else." She put her head on her hand at that point, clearly showing she was done typing for now.

Safiya had read about the Raskal climate, but it was quite another thing to experience it for herself. Her flight suit she wore zipped as far up as it could go, and she dug her hands into her pockets. Even once she had arrived at the base, Safiya felt not much warmer. It was as if the cold had seeped into her very bones; it was all she could do but hope that their first mission would take them to a more temperate climate. Taking note of her associates, it was mildly comforting to know that she was alone in this regard. The spectacled one – Alexandria – made this quite known as she snuggled herself in one of the chairs of the meeting room.

Safiya felt embarrassed by the brusqueness of Raza, he was very much that type of Sarajul. The common stereotype portrayed by the more populous northern regions that characterized the world’s impression of the Sarajul people. Coming from the south, Safiya was much more relaxed and had a bit more social grace (which overall wasn’t much for a Sarajul). She was far from surprised he had been selected for MIRACLE. Safiya had heard much about Raza and his mecha, even learning a bit about the mecha of JUDGEMENT while working as an engineer.

Raza’s behaviour he could understand, for it was quite typical and not meant with offence, but the one who reeked of privilege…he seemed quite petulant. His mecha was perhaps the least interesting to her. It seemed like something bought, not entirely something mechanically innovative. His attempt to insult her mecha was met with indifference, he obviously knew little of the schematics of the various mecha that had been assembled. It was definitely an interesting collection.

Mikan had surprised her with the interesting manner that she spoke. Sure, Safiya knew that there were a number of devices for communicating that existed, but the technology Mikan used seemed quite innovative. It was quite intriguing and a bit admirable that she had overcome her disability to become such an esteemed pilot.

Safiya uncrossed her arms, realizing that all eyes had fallen on her. By no means was she about to take the same route as the young man, but she wasn’t exactly fond of the attention either. She wasn’t here to make friends, but at the least she could give them her names so that they’d leave her alone.

“Safiya with Solar Plexus to support.” She stated with little emotion indicating neither disinterest or timidity, merely neutrality.

Squeak. The last of an invisible smear left the right lens of Everard’s glasses. While the other pilots finished their introductions, he slid the eyepiece back into position, giving it a slight final push with the pinky of his right hand. Disguising a deep breath during the motion, he prepared to unleash all the fury of an aristocrat-to-be’s extensive set of choice words before… hesitating.
And stopping altogether.

No, no no. This was wrong. He was here to make friends. The friends he’d never had. He was stuck with these people for the better part of who knows how long, and he was going to make himself likeable for once. After all, he knew in his heart that they must be good people. Hand selected, likely passing dozens of screenings and background checks apiece. They weren’t the cutthroat sharks of the “fundraisers” he’d attended for so much of his life, intent on getting you to slip up, to show a shred of weakness, to tear your social standing to shreds at the slightest opportunity. They were here to serve their country, the world, each other; and he was going to be right there with them. If he stopped to think about it, his short temper wasn’t directed at the muscled man; his ire was for the authoritative tone and how much it reminded him of the earlier phone call. His parents’ influence had ruined nearly every chance at friendship he’d had in his life. He wasn’t going to let them do it again.

Pausing to take a deep breath - a real deep breath this time - he looked the Sarajul straight in the eyes.

“If the Commander sees fit to assign your back to my vigil, trust that not even a drop of the endless Obern rain would find its way through to your machine.
If that promise would be The Arbiter’s weakness, then the tallest of tales I have read of its exploits are still not tall enough.”

He stopped but a moment to fold his handkerchief away, a precise respiration, only enough to let the group know his address was now turning to the whole, but not so long that anyone could interject before he segued into his continuation.

“My mecha is Vibrant Rhetoric, though Rhet will suffice. It’s the tall, wiry one in blue. Rhet excels at mid-range combat and in vertical environments, where the harpoon and rockets overlap threat zones. It tends not to take hits very well, so I like to dart from place to place and choose my battles carefully.”

An adjustment of the blazer, another calculated pause. He turned now to speak to… Alexandria, it was. She seemed cool. In his past, he would have have torn into her mercilessly for speaking with such a lack of assurance: in his circles, displays like that were practically formally written resignations from any position of social influence. Here, however? After his experiences in University? He saw it for what it was: an icebreaker. An offering of amicability.

“You’re an ecologist? That’s so wonderful!” he began. “I’m a biologist of the marine variety myself, mostly interested in cephalopods and such. And tranquilizers? Brilliant. I should have thought to install some myself! If we incapacitate the Kaiju non-lethally before taking them somewhere safe, we needn’t worry about their filth infecting the local ecosystems when they’re slaughtered.”

Finally, he’d found some common ground! Surely they were destined to be friends.

For a moment after Alexandria's impromptu speech, nobody spoke. On the contrary, she could hear some sort of agitated clacking noise. Oh god. She'd blown it, hadn't she? If only she possessed the same kind of psychological insights for people that she did for beasts. Unable to abide the tense silence any longer, she raised her head to see what the source of the sound was. To her surprise, everybody had turned to look at the oddly -- but in her opinion, very stylishly -- dressed Kaiyokese woman. No sooner had Lexi glanced up than the younger woman finished fiddling with the machine attached to her arm.

To the Selvan's surprise, the device began to produce a mechanical voice. In spite of the cold, a single bead of sweat formed on her brow as she adopted a tense smile. This always happened when she was presented with unfamiliar technology, and this instance in particular was making her especially uncomfortable. Enormous humanoid machines capable of independent locomotion were one thing, but mimicking a human voice? Mind-boggling. How would you even do that? Nevertheless, she was glad that the woman, introducing herself as Mikan, seemed to be more forthcoming than the others so far, and even happier that she had so kindly broken the awkward silence that had been hanging in the air before.

From there, things seemed to proceed smoothly. The woman from Sarajul, the only person who hadn't spoken so far, gave her name and the name of her mech without ceremony. Lexi got the distinct feeling that this Safiya was as much of a wallflower as her, perhaps even moreso, although she apparently also had the good sense to keep her introduction brief.

Finally, the chain of introductions came full circle, and it was the young Obernian's turn. Lexi hoped that he would be less confronational now that everybody seemed to be on the same page, but his response was more civil than she could possibly have anticipated. He regarded Raza seemingly with respect, perhaps even deference, now that he knew he was the pilot of The Arbiter. His words, delivered in purple prose though they were, appeared not to carry even a hint of insincerity. Perhaps there was hope for this team after all. Then, unexpectedly, the young man turned to Lexi.

"You're an ecologist? That's so wonderful! I'm a biologist of the marine variety myself, mostly interested in cephalopods and such." The Selvan perked up, excited by this development. A fellow scholar, among the pilots? She was about to speak, but the young man wasn't finished. "And tranquilizers? Brilliant. I should have thought to install some myself! If we incapacitate the Kaiju non-lethally before taking them somewhere safe, we needn't worry about their filth infecting the local ecosystems when they're slaughtered." He concluded without a hint of irony. Had he actually meant that?

Alexandria's expression fell, and she clearly no longer cared to carry through with whatever she was going to say. Not wanting to confront him, though, she merely turned to break eye contact, looking downtrodden. How could a student of the environmental sciences have such a cavalier attitude toward the lives of kaiju? And it wasn't lost on her that the Obernian still hadn't given his name. She was beginning to wonder if she even belonged here. Perhaps this had been a mistake.

Back into the cocoon.

With a shift more sudden than that of a desert wind, the boy had gone from insufferable to… honourable. His face was still just as punchable, but his new attitude – and his gumption – there was something worthy of respect. Their eyes finally met, and Raza held the stare until the others had finished their introductions. Then he spoke.

“Your bravery impresses, Obernian. Guide your actions in such a way as to fulfill your promised ambition, and you will one day make a fine pilot.”

He turned to face the others, thankful that most of them had revealed themselves to be technical support, and addressed the one with glasses.

“I too am thankful to have a scientific expert among us. Your presence is welcome. Do you know when the pilot of the Selvan mecha will be joining us?”

Well, everyone was doing a little better at least, though still the larger man kept with being dense. It was his nature she supposed and there was no helping that but, clearly two guys were making the glasses woman, Lexi she had said, uncomfortable. She wondered if it was just men in general that made her feel that way, but given these two in particular she couldn't come to any conclusions for sure. Regardless, she couldn't help but white knight for helpless critters and the way the woman retracted into herself reminded her distinctly of a rabbodillo. She let a raspy but audible sigh.

"Dude I'm glad to have a legendary pilot on the team, but for needing a team so badly..."
"You sure don't seem to get the whole team thing."
"Five mechs, five people." She put up five fingers on each hand as her device spoke. "You were there when she was assigned a room in the pilot's quarters."

She gave her head a general shake before giving Lexi a candid look. Then she turned her gaze back to the man and just shrugged.

As the crew argued and spoke the room fell hushed as a rapid clacking noise approached. The doors were quickly pushed open by a young woman. Her brown hair was frazzled, several buttons on her shirt were in the wrong holes, she wore glasses and a headset. As she dashed over to the table, leaving a trail of spilled papers in her wake, she took some of the folders she was carrying and carefully put them on the table as she did she addressed the team.
“Hey guys, sorry about the commander’s delay.” She leaned in and whispered “ I spilled hot coffee on him.”

A gruff voice echoed from the door she entered from “CO Dylan, where are you?”

“Oh that’s the commander.. Sounds like he needs me.” She began to dash off leaving a trail of dropped papers as she did “My name’s still Abigail sir!”

Some muffled talking could be heard. Every now and then the team could here the gruff voice bark an order. A couple minutes later a short stern fellow entered the room. He had short cut gray hair. He walked with a certain amount of purpose with each step. As he reached the spot on the table with the folders, he gave the team a good look over. His gaze felt rigid and cold as he stood there leaning on the table.
Following behind him was a woman wearing nice Destand military clothing. She stood tall and straight. Her brown hair was pulled back tightly into a small ponytail.

“So this is our team, huh?” His voice was gruff and harsh. “Well welcome aboard the Military Incident Reactionary And Counter Logistics Emergency Team or MIRACLE Team for short. I’m your Commander. And this” He motioned to the woman behind him “ is Lieutenant Abigail. Lieutenant, say hello.”

“It’s still Dylan, sir.” The woman answered quickly

“Dylan? Than who’s Abigail?”

“My twin sister, sir”

“Twins… Well that’s just confusing.” He commander said as he began flipping through one of the folders on the table.

“Indeed, sir.”

“Well, back to business. You’ve all been brought together to deal with the rising Kaiju threat. Each of you carefully hand picked by your respective governments. Now the counsel, despite funding the project, isn’t fully convinced that you all are necessary. As it currently stands any nation on the counsel can pull its funding and support at the drop of a hat, so let’s not disappoint them. Agreed? Good. Also as per the counsels requests each of your mechs have been equipped with a small camera system and has been connected to a secure communications network between Mission Control as well as one another . This will allow mission control to access visual data and be able to better provide instruction as needed. Now enough of that. Let’s move onto the important stuff, your first mission.” The commander sat down in his chair as he opened a different folder.
“Your first assignment is going to be a simple one. You’re heading to one of the southern cities of Rastivania, Tepstena. It has a magnitude 2.6 Kaiju heading towards it. It’s believed to be a Kaiju known in the region as Hornitor. The walls can withstand the attack, for a while, and the rocket turrets on the city walls have been able to drive it off in the past. Yet it keeps returning, testing the walls. Hornitor has been selected as your first target because in case of your failure the walls and turrets can still drive it off. No pressure this is a test drive. This will be easy for most of you but we need to prove to the counsel that you all can work together.” The commander stood gathering his folders in hand.

“ You each have a couple hours before launch. Get ready. Suit up. And get out there. Let’s show the world what a miracle can do.” With that the commander snapped the folders on the table and exited the room. The Lieutenant stepped forward.

“Mission Control will be standing by. Once each pilot has confirmed they’re ready the mission will begin. Good luck.” With a quick salute the Lieutenant followed the commander, leaving the team to prepare.

Alexandria glanced up at Mikan as the younger woman unexpectedly came to her defense against the tattooed man's prodding. She wasn't sure whether she felt relieved, grateful, disappointed in herself for being afraid to answer his question on her own, or some combination of the three. Fortunately, she didn't have to dwell on it for very long. With little warning, a very agitated looking young woman burst into the room, carrying both a precariously stacked pile of papers and some rather peculiar news. Something about this hot mess of a human being was unsettlingly familiar.

However, her frenzied dash around the briefing room was but a prelude to the storm of weird that was to follow. Mere seconds after the woman identifying herself as Abigail had left the room, the Commander everybody had been waiting so patiently for made his grand appearance. Immediately flubbing the name of one of his subordinates for the second time in just a few seconds, he quickly launched into a lengthy spiel. He spoke in such rapid, unbroken strings that nobody was able to get a word in edgewise. By the time anybody had realized what was happening, the five pilots were alone again, having apparently been left to their own devices. Wait, had he said their first field assignment would begin in a couple of hours!? They'd scarcely been given the tour, much less had an opportunity to settle in or get a feel for how things worked around here. If only she had more time.

"Please excuse me. I don't feel very well." The ecologist said, standing from her seat and grabbing the file that had been left for her on the table. She hastily made for the doorway, hoping that nobody would stop her. However, before stepping into the corridor, she turned back for just a moment. Catching Mikan's eye, she gave the best appreciative smile she could muster given the circumstances. Then she was gone.

The teenager was speaking again, through the device strapped to her arm. It was a wonder, truly, that she could remain a functioning member of society despite whatever accident had befallen her. It didn’t excuse her choice of clothing, but it did merit some degree of recognition. She had a strong soul.

Raza was on the verge of explaining to her that, seeing as his own country had seen fit to supply a technician, it was proper to assume that the others had done the same. He had meant the Selvan aid no disrespect. Their conversation was cut short, however, by the sound of heels on tile down the hall.

Finally.

But “finally” did not bring with it the authoritative figure for which the Sarajul monk had been waiting. Instead, through the doors burst the incarnation of whatever spirit of incompetence had possessed this operation, scattering documents in the already-encumbered room and whispering about “hot coffee.”

Raza raised an eyebrow. Judging by the haste with which the young woman had buttoned her blouse, he wondered whether the Commander had more important business to attend to than the fate of the planet. Hot coffee indeed.

The mission briefing was simple enough. The officer in charge – one who, at the very least, gave the impression that he could hold an intelligent conversation about mecha combat or military strategy – nonetheless acknowledged that for the group of pilots here gathered, failure was a very real possibility, one which had been accounted for. Perhaps even what was expected. This was troubling in itself, but Raza’s demeanor had changed much earlier in the conversion. Amateurish organization he could stomach. He had trained his fair share of new pilots, and if ‘iiradat Alsahra saw fit to place him here, then here he would stay, regardless of those he was tasked to uphold. But sacrilege he would not tolerate.

Meeting adjourned, the Commander left the room. The Obernian boy shot after him, doubtless with a pile of questions that the man in charge had left unanswered. Raza had a different query. Swiftly, he moved to intercept lieutenant Dylan, halting her steps with a firm hand on the shoulder but a few feet outside the briefing room door.

“Lieutenant.”

With a firm hand he spun her around, speaking voice hushed but tonne iron-wrought. “The Arbiter is a sacred tool. It is never to be tampered with by anyone, for any reason, without my express permission. See to it that any additions are removed immediately.” He took his hand off her shoulder, face now inches from hers, eyes blazing with tempered rage.

“Immediately.”

And he was off.

This post feat. Wizzquizz

At long last, the commander arrived. Perhaps this hellscape of awkward introductions could finally cease. Heralded by an oddly jumbled procession, and less of an intimidating figure than Everard anticipated, the grey-haired man seemed nonetheless like someone who knew what he was doing. As the mission briefing was given, the young biologist took mental stock of all that had transpired in an already-busy morning.

First, the facility itself. It seemed convenable, reasonably well-funded, if hastily organized. Ev hadn’t really payed attention to the salary mentioned in his contract with MIRACLE - it was of little importance to him when he signed - but judging by the other pilots’ mecha and attire, they couldn’t have been people of incredible means, so the wage must be livable. Ok, so he wouldn’t starve. That much was taken care of.

Now, to the pilots themselves. The male Sarajul was perhaps the one with which he’d gotten off on the worst foot, but Everard seemed to have somewhat repaired relations what with his absurd, hastily put-together flamboyant spiel, so perhaps not all was lost. The man seemed to appreciate honor and bravery to a point bordering on caricature, so he’d focus on those. Alright.

Next was Alexandria. She was friendly, interesting, and incredibly considerate; she appeared to have wanted to say something when Everard spoke about his love for ocean life, but had politely stayed quiet so that the tattooed man could respond to Ev first. Had it not been for her casual clothing choices, the young man would have sworn she had etiquette training in following multiple conversations at once. They were definitely going to be friends.

The other two Ev hadn’t spoken to directly. There was Safiya, the female Sarajul, who was tall in stature and short on just about everything else: participation, eagerness to be helpful in any regard, and my word sense of style. The golden necklace was a start, certainly, but everything else was ghastly. The oil-stained plain top, the one-piece suit tied around her waist: it all reeked of practical simplicity. That just wasn’t what clothes were about. Everard decided he didn’t like her.

Finally came Mikan. Now there was someone who knew how to express herself. The bulk of the turtleneck contrasted with the short length of the skirt, a classic. The calve-high leggings just daring the Rastal air to try making her cold. Audacious. The quality of the materials was perhaps sub-par, but not everyone had access to the same boutiques as Ev, so he reasoned that the woman was doing what she could. On top of that, it seemed she had a speech disability, but that was no barrier to this artist: equipped with some sort of keyboard-based voice synthesizer, truly nothing got in the way of Mikan’s self-expression.
In terms of attitude, though… she seemed curt, dry even. The biologist wasn’t sure if that was due to the nature of her predicament or a more direct result of her personality, but she “spoke” condescendingly and appeared easily ruffled. If she was to be the team’s medical support, Everard thought it best not to risk getting on her bad side, so he wouldn’t speak to her at all if he could help it.

“...show the world what a miracle can do.”

With that, the briefing came to a close. Wait, that was it? Had Everard missed something while taking mental note of the other pilots? There had been talk of a kaiju and the threat it posed, certainly, but they hadn’t been given an explicit task at all.

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” he called out to the commander, jumping out of his chair to catch up as the man left the room.

The commander turned toward the young man briefly, not even slowing his stride.
“Speak quickly. I’m behind schedule.”

“Sorry, my apologies, I know you must be terribly busy.” The graduate said, easily matching the short man’s pace with his long legs.
“I just found myself wondering, as I’m sure the rest of the pilots are, what exactly is our mission? Are we to kill the beast?”

The Rastal let out a sigh, this time pausing and turning to face the pilot. “As a soldier from Rastivania, I say kill it. But as Commander, I say do what you believe is right. This thing has attacked the walls before, so at the very least subdue it enough to relocate it.”

Everard couldn’t hold back a smile. He knew he’d like the commander. The young Obernian responded with a push of his glasses, using only the pinky finger of his right hand.

“Kill it it is, then.”

The commander let out a little smile.

The biologist began to turn back to the briefing room, satisfied with the exchange, before calling out once more.
“Sorry, last question. Who should I speak to about the nature of the creature?
Appearance, known attack patterns, the like. Perhaps you can defer me to a subordinate?”

“Sometimes you all are going to be fighting something completely new to us. Consider this purposeful lack of intel another test of your capabilities.” With that, the Commander clapped the boy on the back before continuing along his way.

Hm. Interesting. Frustrating, but fair. He could work with this.
Heading back down the hallway, Everard caught the end of the Arbiter pilot’s conversation with the Lieutenant. Something about immediate additions to the tattooed man’s machine, apparently? Splendid, that meant they were headed in the same direction.

“Oi! Muscles! I’ll meet you in the engineers' quarters, I’ve a plan of attack I’d like to discuss with you.”

And off Everard went, back to the pilot dorms. Finding the room that had been assigned to Lexi, he gave the door a pair of sharp knocks. “Alexandria? It’s me, Ever…” he hadn’t given anyone his name, had he? It wouldn’t mean anything to her. “The blonde biologist. I wanted to ask you about the tranquilizers on your mecha.”

...no response. Blast, she must not have gone to her room when she ran off.

One fruitless detour later, Everard found himself walking down the halls again, this time to find some engineers.