[b]Order shall prevail[/b]
[i]GHOST[/i]

"Move!" The Elite growled, shoving aside his Officer Unit and approaching the metal door. The small black shimmer of energy activated from his gauntlet, exciting the air around it and producing a dull electronic hum. He shoved it though the door and let it evaporate into nothingness, the exotic energies cancelling out it's weight and making it float for a minute before being obliterated, leaving no trace of it's existence but what the warm air would tell.
"Inject." He ordered, letting the units file in before him and move slowly down the corridor, their weaponry at the ready, scanning the niches in the old, cracked bricks of the sewer walls. The distant sound of dripping water echoed through the empty tunnels, it was a noise that would slowly drill it's self into your skull with it's monotony, two notes repeated in a bar in a symphony ad infinitum. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. For not the first time, the units of GHOST Division wondered how any Anti-Kyn managed to retain their sanity within this dull place, where you were as likely to stumble across a corpse or a drop to oblivion as you were to find your foot land on the stone floor. Dark deals were made here, sometimes under the influence of drink... And sometimes the influence is the barrel of a gun or the point of knife.
The point unit, an Officer with the digits 00231, paused and held up his hand to stop the other units from moving. Silently, the machine like units ground to a halt, hands clasped around cold metal weapons and scanning further down the tunnel. Slowly, the Officer and an 01 advanced down the dark tunnel, careful to tread lightly rather than risk alerting their prey. They turned the corner and their eyes came to rest on a armed guard over looking a dimly lit room below. Vaguely the two could make out the shadows of several armed anti-kyn surrounding what appeared to be an old weapons crate, probably smuggled off sight during the invasion and hid until now. It was apparently that they were unpacking it and moving the weaponry into smaller crates, probably for ease of transport. The Officer slung his weapon quietly and took a few steps forwards, grabbing the armed guard from behind and quickly moving backwards with him into the shadows. With a single, fluid motion from his right hand the augmented protection unit snapped the anti-kyns neck, spinning it 180 degree's so that the rebels quickly fading eyes came face to face with his expressionless mask, a horrifying final sight for anyone to see. He dragged the man back into the shadows and slit his throat for good measure, ensuring the man was never going to survive his run in with the protectione teams. He took his final breaths, his eyes still open and staring blankly at the world around him.

For all intents and purposes, one might consider the remaining anti-kyn dead the second GHOST Division approached the room. Their weaponry, their equipment, their physiology and indeed even their mentality was superior to their anti-kyn counter parts. GHOST Division was, for want of a better term, the SWAT of Civilis Protectione. They were responsible for tens of thousands of confirmed anti-kyn group destructions and, among their other duties, served as an internal affairs division for the Civilis Protectione, keeping the other units in line and dealing with any who stepped out of line with a much reputed brutality and efficiency. A visit to GHOST's offices meant one of two things; The recipient was a highly successful unit... or he was a complete and abhorrent failure. There was no middle ground in the eyes of GHOST.

The shadowy units swept silently into the room, taking up position looking down on the anti-kyn with disgust. This was, as far as they were concerned thanks to decades of Collective thinking, their natural position. They stood above the ants, the morally bankrupt insects that eagerly bore into the nests the Collective had made for them. The soft yet deadly shadows raised their weapons and at once opened fire with inhuman precision on the unsuspecting creatures below, twisted and scornful, those who had sold out their species in favour of their own nefarious ends. Those who refused to accept, as all men must, that fighting against something which loved you was pointless.
The streaks of green plasma, the silent explosions of their advanced weapons, the beams of light that exited the side arms of the GHOST units... all this and more sent their foes dashing to cover, ducking below their opponents fire. But few made it to cover, those which didn't collapsed from the onslaught, some of them still breathing into the slimy waters behind them. The water was so cold and cruel, and it would be the last thing they felt, cries echoing throughout the room as the falling bodies performed their danse-macabre
The Elite charged forwards and vaulted over the railing, landing on the floor below with a swift roll to absorb the impact before breaking into a sprint at a speed that far exceeded those of even the fastest human. As he broke towards the concrete jersey barrier the rebel before him rose and spun, firing off his machine pistol without taking a moment to aim. Though the 5.56 rounds peppered the Elites armour he continued forward, undeterred and merely slowed by the primitive assault against his power armour. The technology of the Collective imbued those favoured with feats far beyond anything the human inhabitants had ever encountered before the Triarii found them and occupied their worlds in the short war. He smashed through the concrete barrier as if it were nothing and seized the man by the throat, spinning to face the other two rebels and using their ally as a shield to guard against their bullets. Blood spewed out from the screaming rebels body before he was swiftly silenced by the crushing over his neck, crimson blood leaking from between the fingers of the Elite unit and bones jutting out through the rebel now torn and broken flesh, his eyes rolling back into his skull in his final moments. The Elite spun sharply and launched the corpse towards the two remaining rebels, hoping to force them to move out from behind the cover before they could reload. One was too slow and was caught by the flying body, a sickening crunch resounding through the stone tomb as her neck was snapped by the force of her former ally smashing against her face, her skull caving in like a broken birds egg, the chit of bone scattering around the floor. The other rebel, scrambling in a vain attempt to get away, was quickly bathed in green and melted into nothingness by the rest of GHOST Division as they fired their weaponry towards him.
Scanning the dark room for any more hidden foes, and content on finding none, the Elite signalled for them to begin policing the weaponry in the room. The forces began to climb over the railing and drop to the floor, slinging their weaponry and dashing over to the corpses, careful to check all targets were deceased and never dropping their guard for even a fraction of a moment as they operated with near surgical precision. Several units dashed to the entrances, their weapons in hands, moving around objects to create cover and standing sentinel over the proceedings.

The Officer approached the Elite to issue a report, his cold metal weapon grasped tightly in his hands. He had joined to forget a hopeless love. He succeeded and what occupied his mind now were much different thoughts than those old days. Broken men don't oppose you when you tell them you will fix their problems. The Elite himself new that for a fact; As a sufferer of a rare birth defect, had it not been for the Collective secret sciences he would have died at birth. It was lucky then, that he had been born after the Collective invasion rather than before, though some might consider that a more cruel twist of faith depending on their... political orientation.
"17 647E amputated, Praelatus Meus. Prime Level Contraband is being policed. Overwatch reports possible miscount, there should be 18 647E, requesting permission to take three unit protection team and sweep for suspect around this area." The Officer reported slowly to the Elite, who glanced quickly around the room for a moment before nodding
"Affirmative, sweep for suspect, protection underway." He returned after a brief paused, before waving the Officer off. The Officer spun on his heel and marched off across the room, gesturing to three units with his fingers and signalling for them to form up on him, leaving the Elite to continue his overseeing of the units task. Though their eyes did not pry so deep into these sewers as they did with the rest of this city, the units who performed this duty in GHOST and sometimes less Elite divisions know one thing; Whatever happens, Order shall prevail.

[b]Roman Contact[/b]
[i]Space above New Scotland[/i]
[i]Situation: Failure to comply fully with information request[/i]

The cold female voice rung out again without another moments notice, piercing the dull of space with it's medical news speak "Overwatch reports exogen failure to provide sufficent information. Overwatch confirms exogen non-cooperative intent. Collective extends appropriate civil thanks for cultural information, request knowledge on declared space boundaries to avoid criminal trespass."