[color=1a7b30][b]John Fulman, Arctic Haven Commander
Allied Technologies Offices (Current site of Arctic Haven temporary command), New Vegas[/b][/color]

John had been listening in on talks when the radio officer approached his desk. "Boss, we have an urgent call from Central Command, it's encrypted to prevent any basic set ups from listening in." John picked up the radio that had been placed on his desk and hit the reply switch, "This is Commander Fulman. Go ahead.". The radio whurred and whined as the transmission came to life in the speaker. "Boss, we have a situation. The excavation crew has finished clearing one of the collapsed passages in the tunnels. It didn't go to a dead end, it's an abandoned ICBM launch silo, sir. According to their reports, the rocket is still in place. According to data in the computers of the launch control room, there was a problem with the thrusters so the computer aborted the launch in during The End, but it can be repaired fairly easy if you can afford the costs. The silo itself is overgrown with thick roots and weeds, apparently a forest had grown over it on the surface since The War and that's why our surface scouts never saw it. in all that thicket. we've forbidden further exploration of the facility until you tell us what to do, sir." John ran a hand in his beard, unsure what to do, to find such evil of the Old World in the very heart of their home. "I...I will find a solution. In the meantime, keep this finding classified and that facility quarantined. No one is to know or speak of this facility until I say so, understood? Commander out." John twirled an unlit cigar between his fingers as he contemplated a solution to this problem.  He inhaled the scent of the tobacco in his nose as he dwelled on the problem until only one solution came to mind. There was only one way to deal with this. John reached for an holotape, hitting the 'Record' button on the recorder and yelled "Runner!"

[color=1a7b30][b]The Ultra-Luxe, New Vegas[/b][/color]

The soldier, dressed in his Wasteland BDUs and balaclava, moved through the edges of the casino interior, the White Gloves not wanting a military man running around on the middle of the gambling floor, as he made his way to the meeting room quietly. He'd been instructed on how to identify who was the Mid-Western chapter of the Brotherhood and went to their side of the table. He gave a sharp salute to them, unsure was the commander present and presented a holotape to them before leaving without a word. His instructions had been clear, to promptly deliver the holotape and ensure no details of his purpose were leaked to anyone. The holotape was a military grade holotape, preventing it from being ran on just any holotape playing device in case he were to be ambushed. As a double measure, the tape when played ran the audio backwards, sounding like complete gibberish or a corrupted tape. But John knew the Brotherhood weren't short on smarts and would likely catch what was going on with the tape.


[hider='Play This']
 Runner!.....Right, let's see.... Greetings, Men of Steel. I am commander John Fulman of the Arctic Haven mercenary force. I apologise for all the loops, spy games and mystery surrounding this message, but I assure you I have good cause for this, as you will soon learn. Please come to our temporary command outpost set up at the old 'Allied Technologies Offices' just south of the McCarran walls. It's the base with old Navarro Class vertibirds and concrete walls. I dare not explain my purpose for these security measures even in this tape I've obfuscated for fear of this falling into the wrong hands.
[/hider]