[u]2002, 19 December 2020, UNXIPU Base[/u]

"I'll be damned if I have to wear that stupid fucking hat." Carrie had muttered under her breath. The LAPD Officer could hear it like she had shouted it into his ear. He was, after all, a police officer.

"Don't worry, kiddo. You're no city cop." He said dryly as he was leading the crowd to the warehouse, past sandbags that looked not much distinguishable form the sandy floor and chainlink fences nearly invisible in the darkness, "Last I heard, soldier boys and girls get to pick between caps, berets and helmets." He continued droning, a machine running out of juice.

"A little optimism would help, patrolman." The guard flanking him added. His accent and uniform suggests that he was Nigerian, and from the way he spoke to the American, he seemed to outrank him, "At least there's no chance of getting shot by drunken hobo in American slum. I heard it is getting really bad there." And that was an African telling an American that things were bad in his own country. Times had indeed changed.

"You know, getting shot at by a drunken hobo, or even better, by some evil green man from outer space might not seem like a bad thing! Better than watching the sand build up eight hours a day! Don't think I'd be that lucky though." The LAPD Officer brushed his Nigerian partner's comment aside, wanted to say more but decided to save it until next time as they were approaching the doors leading to the warehouse - those were huge doors, meant for cargo to pass through. As if on cue, the doors slid open, slow due to inertia, revealing the contents within. On the side was the UN organisation's plaque, with UNXIPU written huge, capital and bold, somehow showing confidence that it didn't have. The logo, stamped in bronze, consists of the standard UN globe and laurel with an abstract UFO hovering overhead. A notepad and an old scrivener's fountain pen was superimposed on the globe. The motto of UNXIPU was 'Verum, Securitatem, Incolumitas', latin for the truth, freedom from fear and harm. The truth about UFOs leading the world away from danger and towards a peace of mind.

There were no shelves full of cargo within the warehouse, nor make-shift bunks. Instead, a huge cargo elevator was the centre-piece of it all, large enough for four cargo trucks to line up and descend into whatever underworld was beneath. Security personnel consisting of uniforms from all over the world were patrolling about, or helping with whatever odd jobs were at hand. Cargo was being lifted onto the elevator, and if one were to squint enough, one would be able to see that the crates held equipment and weapons, and each crate had different national flags on them. If one were to squint harder, one might even find his name printed on the crate. "If you boys and girls thought this was some storeroom then you'd be mistaken. This big ol' box in the middle of the desert? It's just a lil' shed to cover the entrance into the UN-Xi-Pu Headquarters. About the only cool thing in a hundred mile radius."

Before one could get to the humongous elevator though, one would have to get through the security checkpoint, manned by security, police and the occasional military personnel almost as bored as the LAPD Officer was. "Well, ladies and gentleman, this is where I get off. Just go through the security checkpoint and the guards will issue you your pass, mission pack and tell you where you're headed. See ya!" With that, the American officer made a turn to walk out, quite reluctantly.

A Malaysian policeman who was with the American and Nigerian who had been quiet so far, however, had something to add, "Just follow the sign when you're below. Alpha go to Alpha, Bravo go to Bravo. Don't Echo go to Delta or something. I'm sick and tired of lost people coming back to find us."

The security checkpoint seemed to be heavily garrisoned. The warehouse had two. The security personnel manning the post were all armed with shotguns and submachineguns in addition to their sidearms. The models they were carrying varied widely as they were all given to the UN by whatever country the security personnel came from. As a truck came through, the driver's security ID was checked and scrutinised, the cargo compartment searched. As bored as they were, they meant business.