The elite N.A.I.L. team stretched their limbs gratefully as the helicopter came in for the landing, moving in perfect unison as the door opened to release them. Each grabbing their own personal gear, the group disembarked from the aircraft and spilled out onto the tarmac where they awaited their commander’s instructions. Before they had arrived, the team had received an initial briefing on the events that had been occurring within the area, but they never took much stock in reports from outside sources. Their job at this scene was to determine the threat level with their own eyes, and to make a judgement call based off that assessment. Until then, the majority of the group was essentially on standby until their particular talents were required. Almost as if to punctuate this point, Captain Ross put the team to work setting up their base camp while calling one agent in particular forward to follow him. A red haired man smirked to himself as he fell back with the rest of the group, watching as the youngest of their group answered the boss’ summons.


[center][hider=Luka Marsons]
[img]http://cdn2.comtrya.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/egoist-f308c_thumb.jpg[/img]
[i]22 years old, field analyst. Uses a mix of natural talent/instinct and "Sakura bots" to survey areas. The Sakura bots are small mechanical robots modeled to look like cherry blossom petals, controlled by three metal links (one per wrist and a headband to relay data). They are 100% controlled by Luka's thoughts/neural impulses.[/i]
[/hider][/center]


Luka, an odd agent donning pale pink hair, fell into step behind the Captain with an expression more blank than serious. Despite her age of only 22, Luka Marsons had already proven her use as a field analyst. She held a natural intuition much higher than the average person’s, even outperforming the machines on occasion. The girl had a knack for finding what didn’t want to be found and had a photographic memory to file all the information away when she didn’t have the assistance of technology. She wasn’t without her faults though, seeing as she was clumsy as all hell, anything but a social butterfly and one of the weakest agents allowed into the field in the history of the N.A.I.L. organization. In her right hand was a briefcase identical to those a few of her teammates had been carrying, though the inside of this case was a little different from the rest of the standard gear. “[color=ec008c]How can I be of assistance, sir?[/color]" She asked flatly. To those who didn’t know her, she probably sounded bored and insincere, however that was anything but the case with Luka.

[center][hider=Kyle Shark]
[img]http://www.theanimegallery.com/data/thumbs/370px/0089/tAG_89023.jpg[/img]
[i]34 years old, sharpshooter. Lost his right eye in an accident, but had it replaced with experimental N.A.I.L. technology that essentially turned him into a human scope. His shot is accurate up to 150 yards and semi-accurate up to 200 yards, currently its only known flaw is the ability to hack the device (granted that takes a really smart dude to crack that code). Kyle keeps it covered with an eyepatch whenever it's not in use.[/i]
[/hider][/center]


Back at the airport, the rest of the team was getting to work on setting up their make-shift base. Portable computers, weapons, cases locked with biometric scans so that only the chief could open them… It was a strange collection of stuff, but such was the way of N.A.I.L. and its people. Kyle Shark, the red headed agent with attitude sat with his back against the wall while the rest of the agents set up camp. He spent his time cleaning his prize possession, a long range rifle that looked like it could have been used for sniping if it had any sort of scoped attached. “[color=8493ca]20 bucks she trips more than once within the first hour.[/color]” One of the guys chuckled, not even needing to say Luka’s name for everyone to realize whom he was referring to.  Kyle smirked and raised his weapon, aiming it at the wall to test its balance. “[color=1a7b30]Bonus 10 if she faceplants.[/color]” He countered pulling the trigger, listening contently to the empty click as the weapon tried to fire an empty shot.