Somewhere on Bouvet Island, somewhere in the South Atlantic 1200 Hours The cold brushed into the Airbase, the artificial ground off the icy glacier of Bouvet able to just about accommodate a C17 Globemaster, and right now, one sat in a massive hangar. A couple of F35A jets, and a few Desert Patrol Vehicles sat around other parts of the base, with even a Pandur II APC and a V22 Osprey, that looked like it could be put away into the C17 for transport, was there. But there was almost nobody here. The air crew were by their aircraft, and overall, only a few buildings were around, the place abandoned by the Norwegians ten years ago since being constructed 20 for a "security" purpose in the South Atlantic, with maybe jets and helicopters here. But there was one particular building to note. It was a concrete-reinforced structure, looking like some sort of nuclear bunker, in which most of the team sat around within, in their spare time. It was mostly underground, but heated, keeping the freezing cold out. Imran sat with the others in the big comfy lounge for Scimitar members, himself sat by a desk and busy doing Chemistry work, with a laptop, a pen and paper, and some ridiculous equations. Just some paperwork, he said to himself. They had gone out on a few operations in the last few weeks, and a few trinkets were here. Pictures, desks, but it was mainly a few sofas, a Satellite TV and a few other things. A suit of a heavy gunner sat in one corner, as an ornament of some sort- one that seemed to have been taken down by the fragile headplate. A cooler with weak beers and spirits as well as soft drinks was in the lounge, and it was like a man-cave of sorts- and in through the next door, a large underground shooting range paired up with an armory that seemed like a vault existed, segregated into the team's individual stuff- the Heavies having their own room for the sheer volume of equipment that they had. Another door from the lounge went to sleeping quarters, for postings here, and a another went to an operations room, closer to the surface. Up top, there was a few other peripheral buildings- one posting a SAM site and several UGVs out of the cold, with another being an abandoned air control tower that served no purpose now. Inside, Imran looked over to the others, wearing simply a polo shirt and a pair of jeans, wearing his blue turban and at full beard today. "Guys, you been out there today? Shit, Svetlana and Antoine have been out for a long time, up on the glacier. I mean...who knows what they are up to there, and you all know what Svetlana can be like." Imran said in his posh English-Pakistani accent, chuckling, just hoping the cold hadn't hit the giant Russian's head. The giant Swede occupied a lot of the large room to Imran in some way, and even Imran had to say that Bjorn's combination of a beard and his dark ponytail did scare the literal shit out of him. The Japanese girl seemed rather small, but had a significant place, as well as Howard, being how he was today. Sikhs couldn't drink alcohol, so Imran had a bottle of warm tea by his side, as he carried on working, aware that nothing had come through today from Spectre- a man that the team simply knew as just one contact, that sometimes told them what they faced. Imran kept his sat phone close by on the table, aware that when it rang, they were going. Spectre was simply a front for whatever it was, Imran judged- it had to be a higher entity, such as the UN or NATO that had this force in place. But really, Imran had no idea. They were just dealing with groups and organizations that were more than terrorists, more than simple bombers. There were powerful people, with connections to governments who had more technology than they should have had. They had modern rifles, hell, armor and equipment that should not have existed in their hands. They were sometimes all just Chinese, or multinational. The rogue groups came under the classification as "Ultrasergents", being a mixed grouping for enemies that had anything from heavy armor to mysteriously acquired modern equipment. Special Forces would never stand a chance against them- and they waged war covertly, quietly tapping out governments across the globe. And they had to stop it, and had every means. That was all Imran knew- that they were a counterbalance. "Hmm...we really need to go out again. Last time when I think we saved that politician in Azerbaijan was too close. I mean, I had to run with him, all the way to the fucking van while these fuckers are trying to level the embassy!" ------ Meanwhile on an inactive and glaciated part in the central of the island, were an unlikely two. Svetlana, wearing thick thermals and a black winter jacket of some sort along with a Russian hat, looked back at Antoine, as she looked down, the glacier ridge huge, as she put away her crampons and her ice picks, clambering onto a vista point. Svetlana only needed to look at Antoine, to know that she lusted over her truly. She wanted to on times like this, ask her out. Just to spend some more time, do more. But she didn't know that Antoine was in love with Bjorn- or that Bjorn liked her own curves very much. Perhaps they were at different levels, but Svetlana knew they were going down. Svetlana herself, you could tell had distinctive features, both at where you knew to look- and they in themselves, were pretty overwhelming. "Hmm...wingsuiting. Long time since I do this. We go down to base, down there." Svetlana said, widening her wingsuit, oversized clearly to accomodate for her. She widened the wings out, as she secured it to herself, checking the parachute, looking at Antoine, as she checked the legs. She had a perfect view over the artificial ground that made up the airbase- the concrete extending a tiny bit from the landmass. But there wasn't a direct route there- and Svetlana knew that they would be skimming the ground down a steep glacial ridge to get there. A mixture of adrenaline and lust for Antoine just got Svetlana going, as she readied up. "You ready?" Svetlana said, the seven foot six mass of Russian looming over Antoine's back, Svetlana perhaps a little unaware that if Antoine turned her head around, she'd barely come up to the Russian's pair.