Sgt. Savannah Angeles, URNA Federal Response Team
February 2553
"Ow…"
I start coming out of unconsciousness, looking straight into a bronze faceplate of a Spartan.
"Hey, the kid's awake."
I try to force the Spartan away, it overpowers and restrains me to my flight seat.
"Look, we're UNSC. We won't hurt you unless we need to."
A quick pain in my neck goes through before my body goes numb.
"Alaska, no need for drugging recruits."
"Job security Dakota, and she's not a recruit."
An American and a Brit, NATO?
"Why do you think we were there then, terrorists aren't our specialty."
"The Innies aren't terrorists?"
"They… point made."
"Better than the company you keep."
"Hey, the new Oregon's fine. I know he was a Red, but this is part of the accords."
A third voice, probably the pilot, chimes in.
"We're inbound, please return to your seats and wait until the vehicle has come to a full stop."
I start fading in and out of consciousness as I get dragged off the shuttle, passing out as we enter an elevator.
"Director, the survivor from LA."
I get shaken awake by two soldiers in white, an older texan and a brit behind them.
"Ms. Angeles, born 7/19/29, graduated from the Federal Bureau of Intelligence's academy in Virginia at 22, attempted to join the Marines, but because of a recommendation by the Director of the UN's Rainbow Unit, got to serve with URNA Federal Response. Recently listed as KIA after a terror attack on Los Angeles' Space Elevator."
"My question is sir, why did we get her out? It was a simple grab and smear."
The two guards leave as the texan brings out a datapad, shows it to the brit, then stows it away again.
"If Director Marne wanted her with Freelancer, why not just reassign her?"
"Marne has always thought of us as a double sided unit Alaska. We answer to ONI as a science project, not the UN."
"Point made sir."
"Do you mind handling her?"
"Yes sir."
This 'Alaska' snaps to salute as his superior leaves, once the door closes, he grabs a nearby folding chair and sets it across from me.
"So then…"
I clap my hands together to break the looming silence.
"How are you?"
"Decent. You?"
"Besides falling from a space elevator, getting hit in the head with a SRS-99, then drugged, never better."
"Hmm…"
Alaska takes out a pad and a pen, slides it over to me, and motions to it.
"Standard UN medical record, we need a current one before we can take you in."
I look it over, the paper already adorned with the illuminati of ONI.
"This isn't UN."
"Oh, I know."
I look back at Alaska, the soldier lazily drawing circles with a trench knife.
"So what about you? You seem-"
"Not important."
Alaska sheaths the knife and unslings a MP5SD4 from his side.
"Bit old, isn't it?"
Alaska mutters something about the classics as he removes a cleaning kit from the stock and starts looking it over. I get back to my paperwork until I hear the almost 600 year old SMG clack, jumping at the noise.
"Jesus, you use a full power automatic and you get jumpy at the clack of what you Americans would call an antique?"
I shrug off the comment, prepping for anymore noises as he reloads the SMG and slings it again.
"You say Americans as if you have history with us."
"I do."
"Care to divulge?"
Alaska takes a patch off his shoulder pad, sliding it across the table.
"1941 to whenever Queen and Country won't need us lass."
I flip it over, the winged dagger of the SAS emblazoned in grays and whites.
"Your FBI has gotten sloppy. You don't seem that way though."
Alaska take my finished paperwork and trades it for a keycard, walking to the door.
"This will be interesting California. Welcome to Freelancer."
As soon as Alaska leaves, I reach for my lock spike and feel a looseness to my restraints. After a bit more budging, my left arm comes free and goes to work on the right. The leg restraints don't even feel tightened as I simply slide them off.
"Now, to get some answers."
I quickly grab 5's MA5, wondering why they left it here before shrugging it off.
"Their mistake."
I take a few mags for the weapon, slide one in, then open up the door, blinded by a spotlight.
"Good, all the new kids are here."
I cover my eyes and look around, 39 men and women of all nationalities standing by as the texan from earlier paces by their line. I move into the nearer end right as he passes by.
"You were all selected to participate in series of basic training exercises and combat simulations to see if you are worth the effort to bring into our project."
The spotlight starts moving around the room, showing off several areas from rappelling to the classic Log Haul to a full building to clear.
"Only 6 of you will go on from here, good luck."
A/N: Sorry about the massive delay. Between classes and some personal issues, there was no way to get this out.In some good news, my co-writer for Phoenix is out of hospital, he's spent some time recollecting his ideas and was willing to help explain the concept of the Shades. Expect the next Fireteam Phoenix story, right now going under the name Phoenix II, soon.