[center][h3]A strange place in a stranger time[/h3][/center]

The adjutant's voice brought the Ghost operative known as Crimson out of his zone as he was doing a physical work out in the battle cruiser's training room. Looking towards the speaker, he took a moment to map out a route in his head before standing from his sit up position and heading for the armory. The trip lasted about three minutes, in which time he manage to catalogue every potential reason he could for the call for a Ghost escort; foremost among them being that he was meeting with someone he didn't trust on a potentially hostile location.

Walking in, he pays little mind to the marines that were getting armored up and retrieves his own HES, suiting up and checking the gas valves, tanks, and tubes. Confident it was all in order, he retrieved his rifle and machine pistols from their racks, holstering the latter pair and carrying the former as he lowers his visor into place and heads for the drop ship bay. He'd wondered where they were since it had been made public knowledge to the crew and kept waiting for the Zerg or some rebel group to hit them as they scrambled to figure it out. He had hated waiting the most, because it meant he wasn't en route to do something, to do his job. It meant he could do nothing but endless target practice and working out. And that grew very dull very quickly.

Still, he didn't question the admiral on why he called the Ghost Team when he arrived, instead opting to cut to the point. [color=FireBrick]"Who are they and will we need to be prepared for rebels?"[/color]