The morning came and Mark Johanson got up and got dressed. They would be heading into Tel Aviv today to help the local resistance take out a local Mothership, via an experimental supersonic craft that used a sensor-jamming device to hide from the alien sensors. Unfortunately it was a prototype, which delegated them to being the one team that flew into dangerous situations under the enemy's nose. After getting showered and suiting up, he grabbed his gear and headed towards the hanger. The base was built into the side of one of the Alps mountains, so they wouldn't be far from their target when they left. When he got to the hanger he noticed that Hatsuki was already there. "Hatsuki-san" he said. "How long have you been here?" "About three hours," she said. "I wanted to be on hand in case they moved up our schedule." She had a habit of showing up early for missions, due to her early trainer's habit of waking her up several hours before the mission and sending her out without all of her gear. She had even taken the room closest to the hanger so she could get there even sooner. It was one of the many habits that she had, but, as it was merely annoying, not dangerous, he had didn't bother to challenge her on it. "So," Mark said, "While we wait on the others, want to work on your mental armor?" "Very well," she said, her face hardening due to her concentration, "try and enter." Mark touched the side of her head, as physical contact helped him focus on one mind, and dove at her mind. He instantly hit a wall that felt like it was made of rubber. While most telepaths would tell you to create a solid wall with your thoughts, he found that the rubber wall tended to resist quick attacks the best, which is what the aliens tended to do when finding human resistance. For sustained attacks, though, they could harden the wall to resist it better. He searched for holes and weak points, but every time he found one she reinforced it before he could make his way through. They would continue this until he made it through or another team member got here.

Dammit, how did I mix up IC and Characters? Disregard this.

Liam spent five minutes adjusting his tie. It wasn't right, he knew it wasn't right. And it wasn't right, when he heard that fly brushing its eyes. With each attempt to adjust his tie to make sure it was perfect, that fly would do it again. Contorting his face into a grimace when that dreadful sound tormented his psyche, he realized he didn't have his tie exactly straight. It was askew again, and he needed to straighten it out. As he tried doing it again, he made small smacking noise as he licked his lips. "...Not purple again." He said with a sense of melancholy. He frowned, as his fingers moved around his tie as he finally set it straight. With a small sigh he raised up his arms as he checked the collars of his suit. Liam rolled his neck around as he took his Desert Eagle and placed it in the holster on his belt. He eyed his sensory deprivation rig, a machine solely for one person, and beautifully mobile. It was quite easy to move around; Of course, as it was the one thing that helped him. He reached into his breast-pocket and took out his glasses. Brushing them off he returned them back into his breast-pocket. Smiling at his rig, he decided that he would take it with him. Walking around on the side of it he began pushing it out and towards the hanger. It is most likely where he needed to go. As Liam was walking he again, grimaced at the fact that the fly was still brushing itself. C-could it just shut up? It seems like it'd be a nice and considera- AGGGGH! He paused in going forward as he clenched at his teeth for a moment. After a few quick seconds he headed towards the Hanger once more. Liam knew that two of them were there already, and it would be remiss to not give a polite wave and felicitations at the beginning of the day. He entered the Hanger, and pushed his machine towards a nearby wall, as he gave a wave to the two there. "Hello. How are you two today?"

"Nurse Micheal, I just want you to know I sincerely 'preciate all ya do here.", Harry nodded to the short, muscular man who had helped him into his suit, receiving a halfhearted grunt in response, "I 'spose I should get to shippin' out, then. Wish me luck!" The servos in Harry's armor buzzed as they flared to life, each movement carefully calibrated by electrical feedback from his own systems, a second skin of steel that was his and his alone. He remembered the conversations he had; how he should have gone into R&D work, stayed out of the fighting, served his country some other way- it would never have worked. Without the living power plant that was Harry Abrams, his inventions were worthless. His armor alone was tailored to himself to the point that, even if someone did manage to develop a battery capable of powering it, the force of the servos and calibration of the wire system would rip a normal man's body apart- their body wouldn't be able to keep up. The near-perfect synchronization Harry had with his suit's motor was the only reason he hadn't sustained permanent, large-scale muscular and skeletal damage from using it. Besides, Harry Abrams had been out of action for too long; it was time to show old Uncle Sam what he could do. He ate breakfast, checked his systems, cleaned Lucy, mounted Lucy, cleaned his AR-4, mounted his AR-4, checked that the safeties were on both, checked his ammunition bin, checked his kit, checked his suit's integrated tools, and left for the hangar. "Mornin' all.", he gave a quick salute as he stomped into the hangar, "Private Harry Abrams, reporting for duty!"

Kelvin Adamska peered out the window of his squad's forward base, into the barren streets of Tel Aviv. The movie theater they were hiding in was surprisingly well-fortified, owing to its stone outer walls and steel inner workings. The plushy seats in the lobby served as excellent makeshift beds, and were just heavy enough to be useful for blocking the doors. In a far-off corner of the room, one of Kelvin's soldiers sat in front of a radio, transmitting vital tactical data back to the tactical operations centre. "[TOC, this is forward team 2. No sign of hostiles yet. No report back from penal forces yet. Awaiting further instructions.]" Penal forces, Kelvin thought, rolling the words around in his mind like a sore wound. Instead of rounding up all those ISIS bastards and executing them for the good of civilization, we gave them back their guns and told them to fight for us. Hell, their mere presence is what's forcing us to stick our necks out without any IDF support. If it weren't for those civvie-murdering ratfuck shovelheads, I wouldn't be sucking down these spare rations! Kelvin sighed, and turned to his radio operator. He spoke in his native language, knowing that he was in the company of his countrymen. "[Anything new, Petrov]?" Kelvin asked, expecting nothing more than what he'd been given the last fifteen times he asked. "[Nothing, sir.]" Petrov responded, cracking his neck as he always did in these high-stress situations. "[What do you think is going on with those ISIS bedwetters?]" "[Who knows. With any luck, they've scouted out the area and are on their way back.]" "[Pfft, sure. My bet is they've found themselves a party of refugees and are looking for a little 'pay-back' for the last five years]." "[Petrov, be careful of what you're saying. The high command is always listening in! One more quip like that, and they might send you off with the Americans to serve as alien bait!]" "[Good! I'd rather be hiding in a crater on the frontlines than reclaiming fifty-two kilometers of this damned city!]" Kelvin left Petrov to his own devices, and returned to the window. He was supposed to meet up with some freaks fresh out of NATO's most recent attempts at turning the tide. Kelvin secretly hoped that they'd at least know where he could score some more pills and fine Israeli выпивка.

"NOW, ALIEN SCUM. PREPARE TO FACE JUSTICE." Toramaru cried, revealing his transformation watch. Striking a pose, he flew into the air. "HENSHIN! MASKED TIGER!" he shouted, as he activated his transfomration sequence. With a colorful outfit donning him, and a shout of "TIGER KICK" he dove toward the first alien, his heel perfectly impacting the "BREEEP BREEP BREEEP" Toramaru's hand tapped the snooze button on an alarm clock, though noise still came out of the television playing a recording of last night's episode of Sunred 0: EX Drive. Groggily, he pushed the cover off himself, and walked into his tiny room's tinier lavatory, running his fingers through his hair. He'd stayed up too late catching up on his serials, and had bags under his eyes, as he noticed while brushing his teeth. He was informed that his teeth would no longer require brushing on account of his new bone structure, but did it anyways. Next was the normal morning calisthenics of one hundred push-ups. These, too, would be unnecessary, along with any normal exercise, but Toramaru knew the value of disciplining one's body. After this, he clothed his chest with a signature Hawaiian shirt; this one was red, and decorated with palm trees. The shorts from yesterday would do fine. Slipping on his sandals, he headed out the door. -------------- "Yo." was all the man greeted the others with upon entering the hangar. He hoped they'd be going somewhere worth sightseeing today.

pssssh-chunk-clang. pssssh-chunk-clang. pssssh-chunk-clang. The sound of metal dragging against the stone of the streets of Tel Aviv, and the methodical pssssh-chunk-clang of robotic locomotion signaled the coming of MAX. One of the alien tanks had tried to run the invincible robot down, but this only enraged the robot, costing the lives- and spines- of the crew. It would have been fairly easy to move the tank aside, but it was sort of bent around him entirely due to the force of the impact. He was scheduled to rendezvous in five minutes, and getting free would take longer- so he walked. His legs showed from beneath the mangled wreck as he continued to make his way to meet up with the Russians. Normally, his programming dictated their summary execution. However, in the face of a larger threat such as the aliens, he was forced to work with the communists for the good of AMERICA. Approaching the forward base, he broadcast something in Morse over the local radio frequency. .. / .- -- / -- .- -..- / ... - --- .--. / - .... . / .. -. ...- .- -.. . .-. ... / ...- .- ... - .-.. -.-- / --- ...- . .-. . ... - .. -- .- - . -.. / - .... . .. .-. / ...- . .... .. -.-. .-.. . .----. ... / ... - .-. ..- -.-. - ..- .-. .- .-.. / .. -. - . --. .-. .. - -.-- / ... - --- .--. / -.-. --- -- -- ..- -. .. ... - / ... -.-. ..- -- --..-- / .--. .-. -.-- / -- . / ..-. .-. --- -- / - .... .. ... / -- . - .- .-.. .-.. .. -.-. / -.-. --- ..-. ..-. .. -. / ... - --- .--.

Suddenly, a barrage of beeps and tones thundered through the radio. "[What?! What's happening to the radio? Petrov, why are you writing on a piece of paper?]" Kelvin cried, as Petrov feverishly scribbled on a notepad. "[It's morse code, sir! It says... hm.]" "[What's it say? Petrov, you know I can't read morse!]" "[I AM MAX STOP. THE INVADERS VASTLY OVERESTIMATED THEIR VEHICLE'S STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY STOP. COMMUNIST SCUM, PRY ME FROM THIS METALLIC COFFIN STOP.]" There was a pregnant pause. Kelvin cleared his throat. "['Communist scum'?]" "[Yes, that's what they said. I--I guess our support didn't know to avoid the barricade on their way in. Should we go get him?]" "[After our rendezvous just stirred up hell? Trouble never comes alone!]" Kelvin shouted upwards, towards the roof. "[Adamska! Do you see anything?]" A stringy voice sounded down from the ceiling. This voice must have been Adamska's. "[I can see a pile of glowing blue wreckage sweeping the streets! Other than that, no!]" Kelvin nodded. "[Good. Pack up your rifle, Adamska, it's time to move along. That pile of wreckage is our point man. The rendezvous point has been moved, it seems.]"

His face contorted into a bit of a frown, as he began rubbing his right temple. Ack that smell! Why can't it just stop for a moment? Liam wrinkled up his nose in a desperate attempt to not smell the horrid smell. He glanced around, "Uhm yes." Liam spoke up a little as he coughed into his left hand to try to get attention from anyone of the group. "Excuse me for that. But I would just like to make a statement, ahem." He peered around the group as he made a quick informative statement, "I would avoid going to one of the bathroom stalls. It needs maintenance. Rather badly, if I might add. Also I would like to stress proper hygiene, as an aside." He began rubbing the back of his head, "So ah, yes, what exactly are we supposed to do now against the aliens?"

Mark slide deeper into her thoughts, like working his way through tar. Eventually, however, her concentration wavered the tiniest bit, going from tar to molasses, and he managed to slip the very edge of his consciousness through her blockade. He quickly turned the mass of thought into a tendril and slipped into her mind. If he wanted to at this point he could mess with her memories or make her relive them, but that wasn't the purpose of diving into her mind today. Sensing that he was through, she dropped the barrier around her thoughts and he pulled out. Once he was completely out he opened his eyes and his senses came back to him, though he felt tired from the effort. "Not bad at all." he said to Hatsuki. "It took me quite a bit longer this time, I think. You've been practicing." "Hai," she responded, then another voice spoke. "So ah, yes, what exactly are we supposed to do now against the aliens?" "We will be flying into Tel Aviv as soon as we load onto the Jet." Hatsuki said. "Once there, we will be running a joint mission with the local resistance to neutralize, or if possible, capture the alien Mothership that has landed just outside of the city. We were unable to smuggle out significant intelligence from the area, so we will be relying on our allies to inform us of the situation once we arrive." She checked to verify that her sword was still in its holster and that her backpack was on her back with its supplies, then boarded the plane. "Well, I guess that's our cue." said Mark. "All aboard." With that he grabbed his supplies and boarded the vehicle. --- As they neared the city they sent out a shortwave encoded signal. The aliens didn't monitor these frequencies regularly as they could only be used for low-speed data transfer at best, but they were good enough to arrange a rendezvous at a pre-named location. "This is UN Vessel Spectre approaching LZ Charlie. Will arrive in T-2 minutes. Spectre out." Hopefully the resistance would get the message and meet them there, otherwise they would have to locate the resistance on their own, which would delay the mission. Two minutes later the pilot activated the VTOL engines and lowered them into position in an old soccer field. Hatsuki dropped the ramp and flew out to scan the area. By the time they touched down Mark was at the ramp ready to leave. "Thank you for flying air Spectre. If you have any customer service complaints, then STFU." said the pilot over the intercom.

Toramaru let out a groan as the plane landed. [Man, what a pain.] he sighed, pulling out a cigarette. Normally his wife would get onto him for this, but she wasn't here right now. Besides, he'd had to listen to a bunch of annoying foreigners. [So where's this so-called mothership, anyways? The sooner we blow it up, the sooner I go home.] he said, walking down the ramp. Jamming one hand down his pocket, he rested his bokken over his shoulder.

Liam gave a quick nod as Hatsuki explained the situation. He'd rather not fight aliens, but it was what he agreed to do. Got out early from the prison, which was nice. But dying to aliens, wasn't as nice. Still Liam made a deal with them and had to go through with it. "Right I -" He paused for a moment as he realized the plane arrived. He checked his side as he confirmed his Desert Eagle was on his side. Check. His rig. Check. Liam glanced at his Mobile Sensory Deprivation Rig as he smiled. He looked around as he listened to the man speak some language. Vietnamese? Liam was fairly sure it was Vietnamese. It was a nice break from the flies making that wretched brushing noise. He checked his tie as he took two minutes to make sure it was perfectly straight. After confirming that he pushed his mobile sensory rig down the ramp. He paused as he noticed they were in football field. "Doubt we're gonna play a nice game of football, so uh, find the mother-ship and just destroy it or something?"

Harry stomped out of the plane, excited to finally be seeing some action, "Alright, lemme at 'em! We'll show these extraterrestrial sumbitches what some good ol' American exceptionalism can do!" He took in the devastated cityscape- chunks blown out of buildings, bits of shrapnel and god knows what else embedded in the ground, a tattered, deflated soccer ball rotting in a collapsed goal, a silent witness to the destruction the aliens had wrought. the scorched and warped frame of a civilian jeep say sulking in an alleyway, canvas roof flapping quietly in the wind. They had said this territory belonged to the invaders, but it belonged only to death. His leg servoes hummed as they came to life once again, "I'll go... I'll check for survivors.", he mumbled, walking towards one of the homes.

Liam heard the American decide he'd search for survivors. This seemed like a good idea to him, for a few reasons. One, it wouldn't be polite to leave people out where aliens could get them. Two, the American was in a Metal Suit, and would make good cover. Three, if he knew his cousins down south they were loud and would distract from aliens. In the off chance they were wanting survivors, it would be good idea to be with someone who they would be more inclined to shoot at first. Plus, couldn't let a person wander off alone. With all of these factors Liam quickly looked around as he spoke up. "Yes, er, I'll go with him, it'll be quicker er if I help him out. Pardon me." Liam said as he pushed his sensory deprivation rig past, making sure he didn't hit anyone. Following Harry, Liam waved with his left hand. "Uhm yes, excuse me American!" He shook his head as he racked his mind for the introduction. He just had to give it when so much background noise was going on. "Er Harry was it? Could you please slow down a little? Together we can go find any poor fellows who uh, got trapped in this wasteland." Wrinkling his nose he shivered a bit. "This place smells terrible. Can you smell things with that suit on, if I may inquire? I don't mean to be rude, is all, I just want to make sure I had permission to ask, and make sure you weren't offended by it. If you can't smell out here, you are a lucky fellow. Because it smells rather pungent out here."

"Ay, Don Robot. Lamento decirlo pero su falta de sutileza es tan inconveniente como efectiva su armadura". Fantasma called out as he nonchalantly walked out into the street from one of the nearby buildings. His attitude was that of someone going out for a stroll, cane in hand, and did not fit the ruined, evacuated city that surrounded him. Nevermind that he had just walked right through a wall. "You make lot of noise, good sir, raise alert. Is fine, I fix problem", he said to the robot as he put his hand inside his pocket. He had indeed incapacitated one of the invaders, a scout following the tank MAX had just reduced to a scrap heap. The little grey had sneaked inside the building to call for backup before running into Fantasma, who simply could not have him making a ruckus. "Now, you not move, yes?", he said as he pulled out his navaja from the pocket, drawing the blade with a flick of the wrist. It was oddly diffuse. "Very still, I cut you out". Fantasma took a dramatic pause, barely a moment, before he once again flicked his arm like a whip, and the knife cut deeply into the enemy craft, well beyond the reach of the blade. He repeated the operation twice before being satisfied with the result. The machine should be able to easily pry the remains apart now. "Freedom for you, Don Robot".

"Fraid I can't, Canada. Say, them eyes a' yers are pretty fancy, right? Could ya help me look fer survivors?", Harry said as he clunked over to a nearby house and took a look around. Dusty furniture and dirty clothes lying around, left behind in the evacuation. He shuffled around, looking for signs of life when he realized one of his feet had caught on a rug, pulling it loose and revealing a trapdoor that must've led to the cellar. He lifted the heavy wooden door, only to be met with an "ALLAHU ACKBAR" and the sharp PLING of small arms fire ricocheting off his chestplate. "Found a survivor!", he shouted, "And he's uh- he's shooting at me and yelling something in his sand language." Another two shots bounced off his armor, followed shortly by the magazine and the gun itself. "Ah, nevermind, he's run dry. Should I haul 'im out?"

Liam gave a quick nod. "Well yes, my eyes are the one thing I can, ah, fully control. And of course I'll help you look for Survivors." He paused for a moment, looking down the barren street, before he spoke up nervously. "Oh, uh, in the distance I see horrible, horrible war-machine! It is giant, and shiny. It is trudging along on three giant legs. We have about 2 hours before it gets here? Huh, they must have had a malfunction. Good fortune for us I guess." He then focused on the house in which Harry went to investigate. Which he heard the sound of gunshots being fired. He quickly followed and pushed his rig with him. "Yes, yes I heard. He's being very inconsiderate considering our purpose." He said as he approached the house and yelled to him. "He smells terrible, give him a bath before you drag him out. IF the power works that is. And if you could please try to make sure he minds his manners, being impolite out here is a bad thing."

The sound of the flushing toilet foretold the bathroom door being nearly thrown off its hinges as Sam burst through, fixing his belt. "Ready for battle!" He laughed, dressed in standard issue garb but chest clad only in the tanktop undershirt. He grabbed his bag, a massive bright red backpack which held untold amounts of firepower, and visibly had the six barrels of a minigun sticking out. To normal hands, it would prove to be extremely stressful, or at least be a chore, to lift up momentarily, but to Samuel, it was like a kindergarten bookbag. He pulled out an M4A1, and two magazines, one for his gun, the other in his pocket for easier access. Like a hollow plastic prop, he flipped it around in the air and snatched it by the handle. Modestly armed, Sam tossed his over his shoulder and jogged out of the ship. Seeing the destroyed Tel Aviv turned dustbowl, Samuel shook his head. Reminded way too much of his previous service. He had to remember that he wasn't dealing with normal guys with normal guns anymore. Then again, he wasn't a normal guy with a normal gun. Shaking it off, he looked around. "Uh, where'd that suit guy go? He seems to be one of the only people around here that's properly equipped-" Gunshots echoed from a nearby house, stopping Sam mid-sentence. "Uh oh. I'll check that out first." With great pace, Sam jogged over to the once desolate house, gun pointed ahead and eying potential pieces of cover as he passed, should guns start pointing at him. Sam barged into the house. There was a distinct lack of dust in places; it's been recently upturned. One simple turn left put him in the living room and watching the scene unfold in front of him with Liam and Harry. "Hey! What's going on? I was on the porcelain when we landed." Samuel looked over to the discarded smoking gun and at the man creeping out of the hole with his hands above his head. "Yeah buddy, I don't think your average bullet will do him in. You're gonna need a bigger gun, I'd suggest elephant rifle."