[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/180608/280a140b55322a07fb6f1daac87c22fe.png[/img][/center]
[b][center][color=#4262B7][h1][+]-----------------------------------------------[+][/h1][/color][/center][/b]
[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/180612/42818c39ba536d531406709c75647cc5.png[/img][/center]

Villamor air force base, 4:00 P.M., an unfamiliar aircraft silhouette sat in the middle of the runway – a private jet commissioned by Rainbow for discreet travel. Thomas was set to board an hour before it even arrived, the extra time allowed him to say his farewells before being sent across the globe to meet with other elite operators. He shed no tear, he wasn’t [i]that[/i] sentimental, in fact he was nervous more than he was sad. He found himself looking back at the beginning of the Scout Ranger Selection course – everyone is stripped of rank, everyone is equal, everyone has to prove themselves. [color=#4262B7]“Ingana nasad na”[/color] he whispered to himself in his own dialect in an attempt to calm himself down. He had gone through this before, it wasn’t a big deal.

He walked out of the hangar wearing an OD green T-shirt, a pair of woodland camo pants, standard issue boots, his M1911 holstered to his hip, and two bags slung over him. One bag contained his equipment, the other was filled with extra BDUs, extra clothes, and toiletries. He took a moment to look around the base and felt himself let go of all the other things in his head.

“Sir!”

He turned his head to see who was shouting – it was the pilot, “It’s time to go!” the pilot had an accent Thomas couldn’t quite place, it was a lot like British or Scottish, but it wasn’t really the same. He jogged towards the steps on the plane and climbed up to board the passenger compartment, he placed his bag on the carpeted floor and opened the file he was given to catch him up on the situation. The now infamous [i]Bellagio Incident[/i] was detailed carefully, some details were left covered in black ink. He couldn’t help but notice how similar the experience was to the Marawi Crisis but compressed into a small hotel and a matter of hours, he thought back to one experience when in Marawi where he called in an APC, only to have its engines catch fire due to an RPG. He pulled out much of the crew, some were in need of immediate amputation and treatment for burns. It made sense why they were suddenly on the look out for new talented operators, they needed replacements.

[color=#4262B7]“Hala buanga, naunsa to sila?”[/color] He was left shocked as he found the list of K.I.A. for the incident, some with names that are still blocked in ink – so many dead operators. He closed the document and processed how the people who survived must’ve felt and how they would feel about other people coming in to fill their places. Thomas already experienced that feeling of having someone close to everyone in his squad die only to have the spot filled by new blood the day after. It was difficult, it was frustrating, it was almost insulting – the man that he knew in that spot wouldn’t have ever done anything like what that rookie did, but that man was gone and this rookie is trying his best. In that moment, his thoughts spiraled into a deeper and deeper hole, thinking about how many friends he’s lost over the years, how many funerals he’s attended, how many times he was called in to be a replacement for someone like that – new blood. He didn’t expect a warm welcome, he expected to be treated how others treat replacements – with disgust and contempt.

He sat back in his seat and tried to get some sleep, Thomas knew that he and the others probably won’t have much of it.

[b][center][color=#4262B7][h1][+]-----------------------------------------------[+][/h1][/color][/center][/b]
[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/180612/b3477806f4f759ed2d6f8acff807c15b.png[/img][/center]

Thomas arrived at an air field a few miles away from Hereford Base was, from his window he could see a familiar looking sight – a truck with tarp spread along the top. He rubbed his eyes for a second and blinked twice, he pushed himself off of the passenger seat and grabbed his gear and took a stride towards the exit. As he climbed out he first gave the men meeting him a crisp salute and a firm handshake and without a word he climbed into the truck as quickly as he came out the plane. He remembered the times where he and his other teammates would have to ride alongside their dead, covered in white or black tarp, he wondered whether or not the previous rainbow operators had to do the same after Bellagio.

He was distracted from his inward thoughts by the mere smell of the country, it was so different in many ways; it was a lot colder than the Philippines, it wasn’t raining as much, and unlike the Philippines the U.K. actually experiences snow cover. Although, it wasn’t cold enough yet for snow to start falling.

When he had arrived at Hereford base, he grabbed his equipment and went into the designated building where other operators were gathering. Unlike the others, he carried his equipment, not because of pride or a false sense of machismo, but because he didn’t really need much it was tolerable to carry – but because he didn’t want to be the odd one out, he placed his bags near the entrance to retrieve later. Inside he was met with an array of different operators from different corners of the globe with different backgrounds and levels of experience. He was surprised to see some people in battle dress uniforms and just uniforms in general, was it to represent pride in the patch? He didn’t know, he wasn’t even wearing a BDU or a coverall uniform – essentially he was unidentifiable in terms of nationality. However, he wasn’t the only one there who was the odd one out, someone came in with just casual clothes – in his mind it was practical, they weren’t expecting combat, but he was armed for one if ever it occurred. Inspecting the room further, it was apparent he was one of the shortest operators in the room, it wasn’t even a contest and his mocha colored skin also stood him out from the crowd, his facial features were different to those who came from South America – no he wasn’t from anywhere very familiar and it was understandable really, the Philippines isn’t really big on the international scene, the only people who would have the tiniest chance of recognizing where he’s from are Americans who’ve trained in the Philippines during their joint training exercises.

It was then he noticed something else, everyone in the room was just standing there, waiting for something, no one had ordered them to do anything the past few minutes they were here. Without warning, a man arrived and some gave him a crisp salute as he entered the room, he too followed their example – better to be respectful than to be sorry later. When the man signaled at ease, Thomas immediately thought back to his drills, feet apart, hands behind the back left over right in a cross. When the man finally spoke, he wasn’t at all surprised with what he had to say – they were replacements, they were new blood, rank or status didn’t mean jack here because in that man’s eyes they were all equally unimpressive. He understood why, he had gone through this with the Scout Rangers and the Light Reaction Regiment, it would’ve been foolish for him to even think he could get a free pass in Rainbow – no he had to earn their respect and their trust the hard way.

When he started to call out names for each recruit, he heard virtual silence until one operator responded with a loud resounding “Sir” and a salute followed by another who followed her example but this time without a salute. When his name finally came up, he replied in the same way they did – in the same way he has done for many years, [color=#4262B7]“Sir!”[/color] he gave a crisp salute with a satisfying heel click, and a straight, no nonsense expression on his face; when the man moved on, he just as quickly and crisply snapped back into his at-ease position. 

When all was said and done, he stepped up to take an envelope from the desk and opened it. He read and double checked each word before turned around and head towards the exit of the Operations Department not even noticing the awkward conversation between two operators. He grabbed his bags and head towards the living quarters. He read his moniker aloud, [color=#4262B7]“Armoury…”[/color] his Filipino accent was showing through, [i]“Ah-rrr-moh-rrri”[/i] rolled [i]Rs[/i] and stiff vowels, not to mention the fact that his accent doesn’t pronounce [i]V, F, and Th[/i]. The V sounds come out as [i]B[/i] sounds, F sounds come out as [i]P[/i] sounds, and Th gets replaced with either [i]D[/i] sounds or [i]T[/i] sounds depending on the word. He does have formal education in English and attempted to tone down his accent, with moderate success, it was a little more articulate, but with a few quirks here and there.

When he arrived in the living quarters, he started to look for his assigned room. Walking through the corridors he found that the others had already found their room assignments and were making themselves comfortable. When he got to his room, he opened the door and was surprised to see how big and well furnished it was. It was almost like living in his parents old apartment, there was a single bed, there was a TV in a corner, there was a fully equipped kitchen and a stocked fridge, there was even a desk in the other corner that was presumably to allow operators a clean workspace to clean their weapons and equipment. It was home away from home, but somehow he knew they might need it. He started to unpack and arrange his things and prepare for tomorrow, a few minutes of warming up and another few minutes for a short burn routine. At night he cooked himself Adobo and rice for dinner and got to bed to gather strength for what was to come.

[hider=Filipino Accent sample]
[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BBtS1ir4tA[/youtube][/center]
[/hider]