[h3][color=lightblue]Anselmo Date 2353-08-14
            Location: The Wild World, Outpost ZT-141, 'Treehouse' [/color][/h3]

The sickly smell of blood and rotting flesh came back to him. He walked into the room, molding blood stained walls, flies and insects tearing at rotting flesh, for their sustenance. He looked at her, lifeless eyes up to the ceiling, ice cold body limp againts the wall. All he could do was cry. At himself for not realizing sooner. At himself for making dinner for two without asking her. At himself for not trying to reach her sooner. At himself. For giving up.

[i]rot[/i]

Dexter snapped out of his trance, sitting up in the firm twin bed that was in the room assigned to him. He rubbed his eyes, still tired from the flight over the night before. He checked the clock. Still before noon. He didn’t oversleep. He fixed his hair and stepped outside. The rays of light peeking through the trees illuminating the fortress in the trees, The Treehouse. The clicks and chatter of creatures down below stirred him and he remembered where he was, how truly unsafe he was even in the illusion of solitude of the treetopped castle. He knew no one on a personal level on this mission. They were all unknown to him except Cross. Whoever they were they must have been in his position. Poor, starving, struggling. The sum of money was all he needed to get on board. Anyone who didn’t need it was just stupid. Risking their already better-off life for something like this. He couldn’t fathom it.

He walked over to the group that was apparently forming look out to the sun. He recognized commander Cross but that was it. He didn’t pay mind to many of the others on the flight over, but he knew he’d need to. Teamwork was the key to survival in the mission, no matter how arrogant or stupid they are, they need to mesh. [color=lightblue]”Dexter Kilono, part of the selected operatives, reporting for duty.”[/color]