1:35 PM, March 4, 2568 (Civilian Calendar) / Epsilon Eridani system, MIKE NOVEMBER facility on Planet Reach

The Spartan-II known as 'Judge' was an imposing figure, even for a Spartan supersoldier. At a staggering eight feet tall and weighing five hundred pounds, he stuck out like a sore thumb even amongst his fellow Spartans. In the dingy, cramped waiting room of the Mike November facility, he could feel the sideways glances of the other military personnel in there with him.

The entire Spartan program, of course, had been de-classified during the war with the Covenant alien conglomerate-even turned into a major source of morale for the UNSC. Even civvies were well-apprised of the Spartan's existence. In the old days, Judge and his fellow Spartan-II's could operate in relative anonymity. Now, ironically, the Spartan program was pretty much the public face of UNSC operations. Even in the waiting room he was currently standing in, a few PR posters lay up around on the walls, with the Master Chief's image plastered on it. A man, of course, who Judge had nothing but the ultimate respect for.

Judge felt a drop of sweat roll down his face, coming to a stop at his chin before gently falling off. His dark skin was starting to glisten under the overhead lights; the temperature in the room must've been at least thirty-five degrees Celsius. The presence of so many people in such a cramped space certainly didn't help matters with the humidity, either. It briefly reminded Judge of a cramped Pelican troop bay during a rapid atmospheric descent.

Those were the days, Judge thought to himself. It had been a while since the last time he had been in a good old fashioned combat drop-as of late, he'd been doing more of the 'get in, get out, don't let anybody see you' type of missions. Ever since Hood appropriated me, anyways.

"Spartan King-068?"

Judge, who had been staring straight ahead at the wall in a straightforward at-ease stance, finally moved at the sound of the receptionist's voice. A wave of inadvertent reactions to his sudden movement oscillated around the room.

"That's me," Judge answered rhetorically, his deep, baritone voice making the receptionist recede into her chair slightly. It only took two or three deliberate steps before he was in front of the desk. The petite 5-foot receptionist had to strain her neck to look up at the massive dark Spartan before her. Though she was trying to hide her fear, Judge could see past her forced smile.

In fact, there were a great many things Judge could tell about this woman: The way she had her head tilted slightly one way towards him told him she was slightly deaf in her left ear. A slight twitch in her facial expressions betrayed a trauma she had suffered in the past and was still overcoming. No movement in her left wrist gave away her Carpal Tunnel syndrome. Even a faint red flush to her cheeks told Judge that she was slightly attracted to him.

Judge, like all Spartans, was highly trained and expert-level in numerous op-related fields, from Covenant weapons technology to basic physics and calculus. However, there was one unique trait that Judge had-and what was responsible for his nickname: His unnerving ability to read people. Within a fraction of a second, he could take in the subtle nuances of people and places. This gave Judge the ability to make a sound decision on-the-spot, and make accurate judgement calls based on immediately-available intel. It was a skill that not only saved his life numerous times back during the Spartan-II's glory days; but was also quite useful in social situations-a category his fellow Spartans were somewhat lacking in.

Judge relaxed his hardened expression a little. He forced his tight-lipped mouth into some semblance of a smile, which looked more like a smirk than anything. The receptionist seemed slightly taken aback.

"Lord Hood will see you now," the receptionist said shakily. She gently gestured to a shallow hallway to the left of her desk. At the end of it was a single door, emblazoned with Hood's full title: 'Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood.' Judge shot the receptionist another friendly smirk and polite nod of the head, before ducking down the hallway to the door.

Judge stood at the door for a moment, taking the time to reflect on the fact that this was the first time-in all of the times Hood has ever met up with Hood-that it has ever been an official meeting of the two. Most of their prior social engagements had been rather private, hush-hush meetings. To be meeting in official Navy offices, something big had to be going down.

Real big.

Judge rapped on the door lightly, for fear of damaging it with his enhanced Spartan strength. He breathed in softly.

"Sir," Judge barked, "Major King dash zero six eight, reporting as ordered."

A split second later, Hood's familiar voice rang out, amidst the sound of shuffling paper: "Judge, is that you? Get in here, son."

In one swift moment, Judge opened the office door, stepped in, closed the door, and snapped to attention with a crisp salute. Though his doctrine meant he had to stare straight ahead, he still managed to take in the state of the often-unused office through his peripheral vision.

Documents and folders lay scattered about on the desk that sat in the middle of the room. Additional papers, both typed and handwritten, sat awkwardly taped to the wall wherever there was free space. The thin layer of dust that had formed over the course of Hood's last absence was disturbed over most of the available floor space, yet to be cleaned off for the decorated Admiral that sat before him.

Hood, who had been sitting at the desk and surrounded by the largest of the paper clusters, stood up and returned Judge's salute. Judge dropped back to a standard stance of attention, his massive hands tucked into a neat fist by his side. Hood seemed to stand there and study the massive Spartan for a minute. The Admiral had definitely lost some weight since their last encounter. The man looked far more stressed than usual, as well, Judge noted. It was at that moment that it was cemented in Judge's mind: Whatever his meetings with Hood were building up to, were about to climax in that small little office.

Hood rubbed his temple, maintaining eye contact with Judge. He seemed to be looking for the right words for whatever he was about to say. He spent a few seconds doing this, before letting his hand fall back behind his back, clasping on to his other hand.

"Judge, we're ready."

Hood's words struck Judge powerfully. He knew what Hood meant, but he had to be sure: "Sir?" he grunted. Hood looked around the room cautiously, and then looked Judge square in the eyes.

"Operation Harmony," Hood said plainly, "is now a Go."

For Judge, whatever level of excitement he was capable of feeling, he was currently feeling it.

Operation Harmony was what Judge was originally conscripted for. It was the sole reason that Judge was appropriated by Hood and now reported to him, and him only. It was because of a shared belief the two had; one that was important to Operation Harmony's success. The operation had been in the planning stage for almost two years, and Judge honestly hadn't been expecting the go-ahead to be so soon. Most importantly, the operation went against the beliefs of ONI, the Office of Naval Intelligence. Therefore, Operation Harmony was kept hidden from ONI's eyes; no small task considering ONI was the foremost master of black ops.

ONI, over the years, had developed a strict policy of 'survival of the fittest.' After the Human-Covenant war put a massive strain on the moral obligations of the Navy's governing body, ONI decided to ditch a lot of the moral red tape in favour of raw victory, no matter the cost. This meant that ONI wanted Humanity placed neatly on top of the other species' hierarchal position in the galactic food chain.

Lord Hood and Judge, however, had exactly the opposite belief: Peaceful co-existence. As far as Hood and Judge were concerned, it was exactly the superiority mentality of ONI that had been responsible for pretty much any war ever recorded in Human history. As proponents of learning from past mistakes, the two knew that the best path-the only path-for Humanity to better itself was to co-exist peacefully with the rest of the galaxy.

Put short, Operation Harmony was an ambitious plot to not only unite the species of the Milky Way Galaxy; but also create a council of representatives from each member species.

Out-spooking the ONI spooks was only one of a plethora of obstacles to overcome. The mission was utter insanity in concept, but the two of them were confident that it was doable.

A dusty silence had settled in Hood's office. Hood let out a drawn-out sigh.

"As of this moment, you are authorized to begin the initial stages of the plan as we laid out," Hood said hoarsely. He looked away, seemingly gazing off into the distance.

Judge knew the intense stress the Admiral was under. While the man was not new to the weight of billions of lives on his shoulder, having been mostly responsible for the victory during the Second Battle of Earth; what Operation Harmony proposed was a different kind of intensity all together.

"Have you given any thought to my offer?" Hood asked. He continued his solitary stare into nothingness.

"Yes sir," Judge answered pointedly. "I found three candidates."

"Three?" Hood seemed to refocus his eyes on the wall in front of him. "A four-man squad…"

The both of them knew that Operation Harmony could not be completed with just the two of them. In their previous meeting, Hood had proposed to Judge that he assemble a small team to operate with. The trick was, finding people who would be willing to operate off the grid, and who shared their belief. People with unique talents that would lend to Harmony's ultimate success.

Finding such people was like searching for the needle in the proverbial haystack-but not for Judge. His skills for analyzing people helped him hone in on his three candidates rather quickly. He liked his choices immensely, having spent the past two weeks doing some reconnaissance on them.

"I have their files, sir."

Hood looked at Judge again. He waited for a moment, then approached the massive super soldier.

"Let's take a look then," Hood replied. Judge produced a memory crystal storage card from his pocket and held it out for the comparatively smaller man before him.

Hood took the card and stared at it for a moment, contemplative. He flipped it around, examining the tiny storage device. He turned to his desk, brushing aside a stack of papers haphazardly; giving no care to the fact they toppled over and whipped around the floor. Underneath where the papers were was a data pad, which Hood picked up and plugged the memory crystal into.

Hood touched the pad's screen, and the device blinked to life. A faint glow illuminated the surface of the Admiral's aging features. A few taps on the screen and he was into the document Judge had assembled on the memory crystal, which Hood began reading.

Standing there, motionless, Judge watched Hood pore over the files. He tapped through them at a steady pace; taking enough time to study the information before him before moving on to the next. Curiously enough, a confused expression slowly formed on the Admiral's face as he worked his way through the data. Judge didn't have to read Hood's micro-expressions to see that he did not understand his candidate selection at all.

Eventually, Hood tapped the power-down function on his data pad, and looked at Judge.

"Judge, you know I trust you and your skill set," Hood said matter-of-factly. He raised the data pad, as if to showcase it. "I have to ask, though. What the hell is this?"

"With all due respect, sir," Judge replied, "you gave me free reign over their selection."

"Yes, I did." Hood seemed to struggle internally.

"May I ask what the problem is, sir?" Judge asked cautiously.

Hood's face twitched as the man mulled over the candidates in his head. "Your selection," Hood began carefully, "is rather… rag-tag, shall we say?" He set the data pad down on the desk, and resumed staring off into the distance. "I had envisioned some people… a little more qualified for a mission of galactic peacekeeping."

"They are Spartans and ODST's, sir."

"Barely," Hood replied simply. He glanced at the silent data pad on the desk. "The list you gave me-a short list, I might add-looks like you grabbed personnel straight out of the bargain bin." The Admiral paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "Most Spartans and ODST's are highly disciplined. They follow orders unquestioningly, and act on mission parameters to-the-letter." Hood paused again. "These people… do not." Hood sighed. "They're not inept, of course. They are highly trained soldiers, after all. What I have a problem with, Judge, is the fact that they have a history of disregarding authority, and acting beyond, and in violation of, given mission parameters."

"Acknowledged, sir," Judge replied simply.

Hood massaged his temple, letting out a drawn-out sigh of exasperation. "Operation Harmony is important," he stated. "I'm a little bit doubtful that people who can't do what they're told are what we need for this operation." Another pause hung in the air for a moment. "If it wasn't you, Judge, I'd have laughed this list all the way out of the building."

"Sir, with permission, I'd like to explain my reasoning," Judge offered.

"You have the floor, son."

"A mission like this is very different from most operations," Judge began, his deep voice resounding off the walls of the small office. "It's a large-scale operation being tackled by a small squad of men. While the main mission objectives are clear and achievable, the exact details and steps to achieving them were purposefully left vague due to the insurmountable number of variables that could come into play along the way. This is also because you believe my unique skill set can account for this, and that I can deal with any issues as they arise both effectively and with minimal danger to any uninvolved parties. As well, we need to stay out of the eye of both the civilian and ONI, act autonomously without any constant authority supervision, and operate with minimal resources and financial backing."

Hood waited for a moment, before giving a nod to Judge to continue.

"I feel that the qualities needed in a team built for this mission must change to reflect these conditions," Judge deliberated gruffly.

"Like?"

"Camaraderie," Judge answered simply. "I need a squad that not only operates with one another on a professional basis, but one that can intermingle socially, as well. I need men and women who can think for themselves and take action without instruction. I need a sense of honor and passion to be present. And, perhaps most importantly, I need a team that can represent Humanity."

Judge could tell that last bit had blindsided Hood. He weighed the atmosphere, before deciding to continue.

"I've had a chance to study all three of them. I've seem them in action, enough to confirm my initial impressions off their records."

The Admiral finally moved, making his way over to the chair at his desk, and sitting down again. He clasped his hands on the desk, rubbing his two index fingers while thinking.

"Just to review," Hood said slowly, "we have the following: You, a Spartan Two, one of the original super-soldiers that has lived and breathed combat since you were six years old, and has a special ability for split-second attenuation of your surroundings; a Spartan Three that talks too much and makes jokes about everything; a Spartan Four who's pretty much mute and has a degree in both engineering and psychology; and an aging ODST who's borderline sociopathic?"

"Sounds about right, sir."

Hood appeared to be at odds with himself, a powerful struggle of decision-making all but apparent on his face.

"Level with me Judge," Hood said, suddenly in a much more casual tone of voice. "You're absolutely sure these are the right people for the job?"

Judge looked the Admiral dead in the eyes. "Sir, yes sir."

Hood let out another exasperated sigh, going quiet. He sat in silence for a good few seconds before his expression sobered up to that of a man who's made up his mind. He stood up, and one again exuded the air of a powerful Fleet Admiral.

"So be it."

.

.

.

Although the majority of planet Harvest had been decimated by the Covenant and glassed like countless others, Humanity refused to give up on the iconic farm world. What little patches of earth remained untouched near the equator were still being used for farming, despite the weather being quite cold due to the glassed surface reflecting the local star's energy. It was also posed no strategic position for the UNSC, which made it dangerously susceptible to whatever remained of the Insurrectionists-as well as pirates, both human and alien.

Harvest's unique condition-although tragic, and the epitome of what the Human-Covenant War left in it's wake-meant the planet lent itself well to off-the-grid activities. The reflective surface made orbital scanning difficult and painful; while the cold, icy surface repelled any would-be adventurers and scavengers. It was precisely these conditions that prompted Judge to pick Harvest as the place of gathering for his new team.

Specifically, he had them report to an abandoned warehouse, far on the outskirts of the remnants of Utgard, Harvest's former capital. Large pieces of aging farm machinery towered over the simple structure, set against the top of an escarpment. The melted, charred remains of Harvest's capital city of Utgard lay in shambles; a powerful view framed dramatically against the warehouse's dim exterior. Night had fallen, and the star light and moon light reflected off the massive planes of glass; refracting and illuminating the complex.

Judge approached the warehouse entrance from the shadows. Fully encased in his Mark Six Mjolnir armor, the black coloring of it made him hard to spot by anybody who wasn't looking. The armor wasn't necessary, of course; but getting up in front of his candidates and telling them what they were about to hear would require powerful imagery. His armor, and the destroyed city backdrop, would serve as a powerful tool to convince them.

Judge checked the time on his Heads Up Display. Twenty fifty nine hours. Almost nine o'clock. Right on time. He edged into the building swiftly and silently; knowing that there were four confused soldiers waiting for him in the silent complex. He wanted to get the drop on them; to immediately exert a powerful sense of skill, when he approached them.

These men responded better to personality than chain of command.

No trace of his candidates could be found inside the main entrance area of the warehouse. They were highly-trained soldiers, after all. No trace, yet Judge was certain they were there. The funny thing about his unique ability was that it wasn't always consciously apparent to him what he was sensing or seeing-the more subtle stuff would only invoke a strong instinct or feeling.

Inside the dark, quiet warehouse, he knew his candidates had successfully found their way there. Prompted by orders lost in vagueness, he knew they had no choice but to respond and be here, lest they face major reprimand from the powerful Fleet Admiral who had summoned them there. Hood was a powerful man in that respect.

Sure enough, Judge stopped by the first window overlooking the empty storage bay and seen three figures standing clustered together in the middle of the darkened room. He slipped into the giant storage area without a noise, and made his way up onto the viewing balcony that wrapped around the warehouse. He walked out to a good position to see them before stopping.

He took a moment to take in the scene before him: Two Spartans of different generations, and an ODST stood before him, fully clad in their respective armors. They were painfully quiet; a million unspoken questions undoubtedly bursting to be thrown around. None of the candidates had been informed on any details; including the fact that they would not be there alone.

The clock on Judge's HUD ticked to twenty-one hundred hours. Judge took a deep breath.

"As of this moment, you no longer exist in the entirety of UNSC databases," Judge bellowed, breaking the weighty silence that was pressing down on the dark room. His voice reverberated around the empty cavernous room, powerfully magnified.

A normal person would've jumped a mile straight up in the air, but the highly-trained personnel down below Judge simply gave a barely perceivable jerk of their heads. It was hard to see from four stories up in the air, but Judge could see their helmets swivel around as they tried to identify where the voice had come from. He waited a few seconds to see which of them would have the balls to speak first.

"Spartan Emily, reporting for duty," one of them spoke at last. Curiously enough, it was the Spartan IV-the one that was supposedly very quiet and reserved. Judge noted her voice; it was a mix of a powerful, veteran Spartan with an evident nobility. It was soft and reserved, but tinted with an air of wisdom. Other than that, she stood there quietly at attention, indifferent to the events unfolding. She was neither bored nor excited; just standing there, awaiting what came next. No visible reaction to what Judge just yelled at them all.

Interesting.

"Sergeant Frank Hardy, reporting for duty," chimed in the ODST. A thick Scottish accent tinted the man's harsh, throaty voice. Far from subtle, the man's voice carried his emotional state quite well: He was simultaneously worried and happy. Judge could tell the man was slightly frustrated, but not about being pulled away and erased from existence-he was bored just standing there. By no means was Judge a mind reader, but he could practically hear the man screaming 'let's get on with the fun!' inside of his head. In fact, the bit about being wiped from the annals of the government made him curiously pleased.

Curious man, indeed.

"Do we still get dental?" the final candidate spoke out. The last remaining figure standing below-the Spartan-III-cocked his head to the side quizzically, as if the question was serious.

Judge grinned inside his helmet. The Spartan-III had spoken out of line, not knowing who-or what-was addressing them from the shadows. If it was Hood standing there in the shadows, Judge could only vaguely guess at what horrible punishment would be thrown at him.

He had to admire the Spartan's charisma, though. Judge's reconnaissance of the third-generation super soldier had shown him that the Spartan had a strong sense of humor. Even years of harsh Spartan training and the horrors of war hadn't scrubbed his joker personality clean.

It was precisely that manner of personality that Judge needed to tie the group together. Morale management had never been one of Judge's strong suits, and that was one of the particular reasons for picking the Spartan-III down below him. He needed someone to keep the team's spirits high, even through the thickest of situations.

"What is your name, Spartan?" Judge bellowed again.

"Yin B dash One Six Nine," the Spartan-III answered professionally. "Everyone just calls me Radio though," he added.

Judge figured it was a good time to enter the spotlight, both literally and metaphorically. He chinned a control on his helmet, and the floodlights he had fixed up beforehand suddenly shot to life, blowing out the center of the empty storage room in a thick, yellow glow. His visor automatically adjusted for the sudden change in lighting.

He gently hopped over the railing, falling four stories before landing on the hard cement floor below with an energetic thump. A fall that would've broken a normal man's legs did nothing more to Judge than a fall from two feet would have. All three candidates immediately straightened up and snapped to a well-disciplined stance of attention, recognizing the Spartan-II's armor silhouette.

"Nice sir, a solid ten for sure," the Spartan named Yin jested from his rigid attention stance.

Judge approached the trio of soldiers before him, taking slow, deliberate steps. He could almost feel their buring curiosity as he stopped five feet in front of them.

"Helmets off," Judge said simply. The three candidates obliged, unlocking their helmet seal with a faint hiss, and removed their head gear in unison.

Judge took a moment to take in the yellow-bathed scene before him. A person's face told him a lot about their character, motivation, and many other important tidbits. This was his first time getting a close read on his selected candidates.

On the left, the Spartan-IV named Emily squinted under the powerful floodlights. She was easily the tallest of the three, by a difference of a full foot. Her pale white skin shone under the yellow lights; the recesses of her dynamic, elegant facial structure dipped in shadow. Freckles on her cheeks emphasized her noticeable cheekbones. She had soft, green eyes that betrayed her Spartan nature, and her red hair was tied up in a standard regulation bun. The first impression that came to Judge's mind was that of a noble knight. She was wearing full-body second-generation Mjolnir armor, of the Operator variant; dark red with white highlights.

Next to her was Sergeant Hardy. The man was definitely getting on in his years; he was completely bald. His chiselled, battle-hardened face was pock-marked with years' worth of aging and battle damage, further emphasized by the powerful floodlights. A thick brow covered his eyes completely in shadow. Hardy definitely gave off the air of a man you didn't want to mess with on his best of days, lest he tear you limb from limb with a smile on his face. He was wearing standard ODST armor, slathered in olive drab and digital woodland camouflage.

The last candidate in line was Yin-B169, or Radio, as he mentioned. Realizing he was under scrutiny, he pulled a face like a child trying to act innocent. Studying his face, Judge could see past the humorous exterior of the Spartan-III in front of him. Out of the three of them, Radio seemed to be the most experienced in battle. Beneath his front, Judge could see telltale tics of a man who'd killed thousands of Covenant.

Radio's face bore a few minor scars, with only one major scar. It ran across his right eye, which Judge noted had been replaced with a transplant. With a close-shaved head of hair, the Spartan instilled the image of a classic samurai; though if Judge had to peg his nationality, he'd guess Radio was from the People's Unified Korea. He was wearing outdated Mark Five HazOp armor; white with black detailing.

Judge inhaled, readying himself for his speech.

"You do not exist, in any shape or form, in any government-operated database, anywhere," Judge began. "First and foremost: Regular military rules and conventions no longer apply. If you have a question, don't be afraid to ask it."

Almost immediately, Sergeant Hardy raised his hand emphatically.

"Are we here for punishment?" the Trooper growled, sounding almost hopeful.

"No," Judge replied simply. That fact seemed to confuse the three people in front of him, who had apparently been under the impression they were there to be disciplined. Even Radio had dropped his mocking expression, and settled into a state of disbelief.

"Why are we here, then?" Radio asked; some of the humor had faded from his tone. Judge gave him a subtle nod.

"You are here for a mission." The three candidates stood up straighter. "As you know, each of you has unique characteristics that the UNSC takes issue with." Judge gestured to Emily. "Some of you take issue when you're given orders when there's a logically superior way to achieve the goal." He gestured to Hardy. "Some of you don't like operating under a lot of restraints." Lastly, Judge gestured to Radio. "And, some of you aren't willing to give up your social personality. Beneath these traits, there is an underlying self-confidence that drives you. It is that characteristic that made me pick you. You, out of hundreds of thousands of UNSC personnel."

There was a small pause, and Hardy decided to voice another question. "There has to be more to it than that. What's the real reason we're here?"

Judge smirked slyly. "A very good question," he answered. "I pose this question to all of you: What is the one end goal you believe in? In the bigger picture, what is it you've always wanted to accomplish?" The three candidates thought about that for a moment, an expression of realization slowly permeating their faces. They looked at one another briefly, wondering if each of them had came to the same conclusion.

At last, it was Emily who voiced their collective answer: "Peace?"

Judge nodded slowly and deliberately.

"Is that not what we're always fighting for, though?" Hardy growled sarcastically.

"Indeed," Judge answered. "However, a ceasefire is no 'peace.' Your desires don't end there."

After a moment, a look of sudden understanding spread across Emily's face.

"We're going to break out a galactic United Nations, aren't we?" she whispered. It amused Judge how quickly she had jumped to such an accurate conclusion with no factual foundation.

The other two candidates stared at her, beginning to realize that they, too, wanted exactly the same thing. Even the cruel Hardy.

"Seriously?" Radio asked disbelievingly.

"Yes," Judge replied. He breathed deeply. "We are now a four-man squad with a three-tier mission goal. Objective one is to secure communications with the major alien governing bodies. Objective two is to blow the whistle on ONI, and throwing them to the wind for what they're really doing. Objective three is to establish a joint committee of representatives." Judge gave them a few moments for the information to sink in.

"Is this sanctioned?" Hardy asked, with an excited grin.

"No," Judge answered simply. "We are operating outside of the UNSC's curriculum." He paused for a moment to gauge the reaction of his team. "You are not required to be here. In fact, you no longer exist under the UNSC's watchful eye. You can walk out that door right now and live the rest of your life quietly and freely. I won't stop you or punish you."

Nobody moved.

"We do, however, have somebody backing us, unofficially of course. Somebody who shares our belief; somebody with a lot of pull and power."

"Who?" Radio asked.

"Fleed Admiral Lord Terrence Hood."

"Oh. Nice."

Judge was sure that the men and women before him were exactly what he needed to get Operation Harmony done. He had given the opportunity to leave… and none of them took it. They were in on the mission, that much was evident.

"Our team callsign is 'Unity Squad,'" Judge continued. "We will operate off the grid, in sometimes intensely hostile conditions, with limited resources and finances. We have a long road ahead of us, but the end goal is achievable. You all know this." Judge took a moment to study their faces. "Are you in?"

"Creepy hush-hush meeting out in the middle of a planet-sized cemetery, for a blacker-than-black ops mission to usurp ONI and install a galactic governmental body?" Radio asked sarcastically. "I can do without the dental benefits, I guess."

"Aye, I'm in," Sergeant Hardy replied gruffly. "Sounds fun, to be honest."

"Yes sir," Emily replied simply.

Judge nodded again, acceptingly.

"First rule of Unity Squad: There is no chain of command. Only trust and honesty. In the future, you can just call me Judge."

The three Unity members nodded affirmatively.

"Any questions?" Judge asked loudly, his deep voice resounding around the cavernous storage facility. Emily raised her hand.

"What's our first step?" she asked.

"First," Judge replied, "we find a ship."