[color=fff79a]Jamie Underwood[/color]
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If, at that moment early in the morning, one happened to walk into Jamie's room, one would not assume she were a highly trained enforcer of the law, but instead some kind of 'free-spirited' person with little responsiblity. Her covers were a mess already. The room was dark, but one could make out the sleeping mass of scattered arms and legs, as well as her audible snoring.

The digital alarm screeched it's harsh warning, something Jamie had to learn a long time ago to wake her from her slumber. Her eyes flashed open and she flailed, falling out of her bed. [color=fff79a]"Wuh~?"[/color] She mumbled, confused, as she stood to her feet. This wasn't the last room she went to sleep in. Where was she? What was going on? The alarm waking her up so cruelly gave her the strange feeling in her chest. The very real fright of being jarrignly torn away from her sleep immediately proven baseless always gave her heart a nervous humidity.

Oh, right. Rainbow. Memories came to her groggily. Fourty minutes to get ready. This place had an in-built shower. Ridiculously fancy. Jamie almost felt bad about it, it was so fancy. Almost- that's the key word. Almost felt bad. Luckily, no one was around to see her absolute travesty of a bed. Her drill instructor would have torn her head off if he found out. Genuinely embarrassed, Jamie quickly fixed her bed as her "breakfast" was being made. Jamie never learned to actually cook, so she would be enjoying toast, cereal, and orange juice. It was like college all over again, except less alcohol and more PTSD. This place a thick cloud hanging over it- everyone in here was a total mope. If there's one thing that cheered everyone up it was successful operations- which is why she was little disappointed they were wasting time 'training'.

Jamie never drank coffee. She could count on two hands the amount of time she's ever had a cup of the sinster brown liquid. It made her hyper and tired all at once, and the desire to have another cup was enough to make her never want to touch it again. Caffeine was a drug! 

Now in her fatigues, her hair tied into her traditional bun, Jamie had spaced out, staring a blank corner of the room with a blank look on her face, idly stirring the bowl of milk in front of her. So milk went a bit all over the surface of the table when a few minutes after 6, the silence was broken by a loud knocking and yelling about the armory. Jamie blinked, exasperated, shaking her head as she stood up, flattening her second pair of fatigues onto her body and quickly making her way down into the armory.

She placed the kevlar vest over herself, as well as leg, thigh, forearm and shoulder pads to protect herself from the training bullets. While usually she went a bit lighter on the clothing (to look badass) even a small layer would actually protect her against whatever they would be shooting at each other today. But a real bullet? Long shirt sleeves wouldn't do anything but stuck on a door handle in a freak accident that would make her obituary tragically sad. She also held her helmet beneath her armpit, not wanting to put it on until just before the training session.

Jamie was slightly later than a few of the other operators, who were already engaged in a conversation. It seemed someone was complaining about having to use one of the greatest firearms ever invented; the M16 and it's subsequent iterations. Third in line, right after the M1 Garand, which was second only to the M1911 pistol. She saw Aleks, trying to make eye contact and giving a 'subtle' wave. After that, she saw her superiors, and she quickly tried to find the line and stood at attention.

[color=fff79a]"Underwood, reporting for training, Sir,"[/color] she said officially, hands folded behind her back and her shoulders square.