[center][b]The Quad (based on Triskelion) Washington D.C. on the Potomac River S.T.R.I.K.E. Headquarters Briefing Room 314A May 7, 0900[/b][/center] [hr] [center][img]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v252/HlySd/b84c6a65-bfaf-4bd4-844c-8b2813bd262b_zpsghggdxfo.jpg[/img][/center] [hr] The briefing room was full of young men and women dressed in pressed black and white suits, ties, and skirts. There were ten S.T.R.I.K.E. operatives each—five of the best young men and women working for the organization. They were seated in comfy, black leather chairs around a narrow elliptical wooden table. They chatted leisurely among themselves until their conversations were interrupted by a grizzly man who strode into the room. All the agents fell silent and abruptly stood from their seats out of respect. The man merely waved a dismissive hand at them as the agents retook their seats. The man who stood at the head of the table hadn’t been wearing a [i]fancy-smancy[/i] black and white suit as the rest of them. He was wearing half of a suit with a white shirt, light-blue tie, and khaki pants. His short, military-cut hair was a mixture of blonde—the color that once occupied his head in his youth—and white—alas his age was catching on. The long-time veteran’s jaw was covered in stubble as he completed his tireless appearance with a cup of coffee. The man’s name was [b]Bill Hadley[/b], and despite his appearance, he was the most respected man in the agency behind the S.T.R.I.K.E. Force Director. “Mornin’ boys and girls, did everyone get their Silver Dollar (Starbucks) coffee and their bagels?” he asked facetiously. The agents remained silent, giving him expectant stares. Bill’s blue eyes rose from his coffee to return the empty stare. “Jesus Christ, agents. What did I walk in on, Stacy’s mom?” The agents chuckled softly, lightening the mood a little. Setting down his coffee, Bill sighed, which hadn’t been a sound the agents wanted to hear. “All right; I won’t pull yer legs anymore. Let’s just get straight to the point. G. I. Joe has a field test this mornin’ and y’all were selected to act as Op4 (Military term basically means “Opposing Force”).” Several moans chorused throughout the brief and a forehead struck the table. Bill waved his hand dismissively again. “I know, I know, it sucks, but everythin’ you do for S.T.R.I.K.E. is appreciated. Y’all have free health insurance and you get paid more than any federal agent workin’ for someone else.” One of the female agents chimed in with a question: “So, what are we supposed to do? Walk around with rubber duckies (Army term for “water guns”) and shout ‘bang,’ ‘bang?’” “No; this ain’t gonna be like anythin’ you’ve ever experienced before. All y’all will be given actual weapons and you’ll be expected to try and kill him to the best of yer ability, but he is not allowed to kill you in return.” “What the!?” an agent exclaimed before he grasped his forehead as though the instructions he heard had given him a migraine “You want us to try and kill Soldier of Fortune?” Bill narrowed his eyes at the agent. “What’s so hard to understand, son?” “But…well…It just doesn’t make sense! Aren’t we supposed to be the good guys?” “We [i]are[/i] the good guys, son. As I said before this is training. We gathered you ten here because y’all are the best this agency gotsta’ offer. The Director is gonna be watchin’ the whole thing so you best not hold back.” “But what if we actually kill him?” Bill frowned. “I don’t doubt y’alls skill, but this ain’t his first test run, and I know what I’ve seen’im do. Y’all won’t be able to kill’im, but we hope he won’t kill y’all. Y’all are about to enter some guy’s imagination and you ain’t comin’ out of it until it’s [i]all[/i] over. So don’t hold back. If any of you attempt to hold back, you’ll be demoted.” The eyes of the S.T.R.I.K.E. Force agents were wide with shock and tension. “Shit,” an agent cursed under his breath. Bill grabbed up his coffee and raised it up to the agents in cheers. “See y’all in the simulation room. Instructions are bein’ transferred to yer PDAs as we speak. We’re givin’em to you now because if we gave’em to you beforehand, some of y’all would chicken out or make excuses for not showin’ up. So I’ll see y’all down there. Take plenty of Tylenol before you come.” The Assistant Director left the room in dreaded contemplative silence a complete contrast from what it had been minutes before.