There are endless stories about entering the underworld. You can go for your own reasons, and with the best (or worst) of intentions, and the gates will stand open to you. When you enter that subterranean plane, you might be welcomed, or you might be tempted, or you might be tricked, and little of that matters...as long as you stay. You only find how much trouble you're in when you actually try to leave, because while you may enter the underworld freely, there will be a price to return to whence you came. If you return - and you enter with no guarantee that you will - you return changed, and something is always taken from you.

These thoughts swirled through Elizabeth's head as she stood in an elevator, her artificial hand toying with the badge on her jacket. She felt like hundreds of meters of rock had gone by, and her ears had already popped once from the pressure change. The car moved with the speed of a freight elevator, and Elizabeth began to wonder if she were trapped inside an anonymous, brushed-metal purgatory. She breathed out a sigh of relief as the car slowed further, stopped, and the heavy door slid aside with a small hiss of equalizing pressure. She couldn't help but smile as she saw a pair of large men in crew-cuts standing just outside, bulges under their jackets almost shouting out how heavily armed they were. If she'd wondered if they knew who she was - or had been - Elizabeth certainly had her answer now.

"Welcome to the Project, Miss Dalton," one of the two men said, "If you'll-"

"Special Agent," Elizabeth cut in.

"Excuse me?" The man said.

"My title is 'Special Agent,'" Elizabeth said, her voice clipped but even.

"Project staff don't have titles," the man said.

"I'm aware of that," Elizabeth said, "And I'm sure you're aware that I am not part of the Project's staff. You'll address me appropriately, thank you."

The man grunted, looked at his partner, and shrugged. With a gesture, the two turned away from the elevator and down a hallway leading further into the underground complex. 

[i]Making friends and influencing people,[/i] Elizabeth though, [i]We're off to a great start.[/i]

Kilometers of flat grey metal hallways stretched out, branching off apparently at random. Everything looked heavily reinforced, with isolation doors a meter thick in places, ready to lock down different areas. Elizabeth found herself wondering what the end-game might be in the event of a dedicated prison break, considering the kinds of individuals they apparently had incarcerated here. As she passed another huge blast door, she looked up, letting her eyes follow the door's outline. The doorframes were marked with bumps, small against the door's bulk but still the size of basketballs. 

[i]Explosive charges[/i], she thought, [i]They'd bring the roof down. There aren't too many of us who don't need to breathe, after all...[/i]

More corridors, more walking, more silence from her two escorts, and Elizabeth finally arrived at what looked like an office door. The two knocked, then pushed the door open, making their way inside. Elizabeth followed, and allowed herself a smirk as the older man - Fisher - told them they could go. 

[i]You've traded one cell for another,[/i] Elizabeth thought, [i]You'll have no real power down here. But at least you'll get to dress better.[/i]

Her shoes clicked on the dull metal corridor as she walked beside Fisher, each step a syncopated counterpoint to the older man's stick. Direct to the cells, each considerably larger than those she'd been familiar with. And inside each one, a different face, a different story, most of them certainly worth more than Fisher's droning repetitious introductions. Elizabeth found herself caught by the woman Fisher introduced as Wong Lian Hui, but pulled herself away before her mind could get wrapped too far around that particular axle. After his introductions, Fisher touched a few buttons and the cell doors banged open, the loud buzz of magnetic locks filling the air for a moment.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, let the inevitable indifference, the puerile, pointless posturing roll over her, but only for a moment. There would be no point in allowing that to continue, and she felt that today her patience might not be all she could hope for. So, she took a breath, let the air out through her nose, then spoke.

"Good afternoon," she said, and she made a point to make eye contact with each of the others, "As Doctor Fisher has said, my name Special Agent Dalton, and I'm with the FBI." She clasped her living hand in her artificial one behind her back, paced to one side, "You all know why you're here. I won't pretend you all consented to this, but under the circumstances that's less relevant than it could be."

"Now, let's talk about why I'm here. There are a couple of reasons, but the biggest one is this." She smiled a sunny, almost playful smile, "There's a give and take here, a check and balance. A carrot and a stick, if you will. I think you've all been told - quite likely at length - about the stick. I'm here to offer you the carrot." She stopped, looked at each one of the prisoners - the patients - again, those who would meet her eyes.

"There are enemies that we can't fight with the strength of nations," Elizabeth said, "Threats that we can't trust the Heroes of this world to defeat. There are those who have no rules, and those with whom no reason, no threat, no overwhelming odds will stop. Sometimes, there will be things that have to be stopped before anyone else even knows they exist. And that's where you come in. You all have power, strength that can be applied toward the greater good - even if nobody else knows about you, what you did, or how you did it."

"That means we let you do what you've always done - but under our guidance, under our rules. You'll have access to all your old equipment, but you'll be monitored and tracked. Your behaviour and movements will be recorded. As long as you treat the carrot with respect, we won't have to discuss the stick." She paused a moment, "And you should know, this isn't a graduated system; I'm talking about a one-step program. You get one chance; [i]this[/i] chance." Elizabeth smiled again, a quick, lightning-strike expression.

"And now, I think, we'll hear from Doctor Fisher," Elizabeth said, turning, her artificial arm moving in a theatrical flourish, "Since he has the details of the first mission we'll be undertaking."