Planet Irk was once teeming with life, a lush landscape that sprawled from pole to pole, meeting at the equator in a simpler time. That long disappeared with the onset of technology, mainly that created for destruction. The Irken were destined to become supreme rulers of their own planet, and in that horrific process over thousands of years, brought about the very end product that is seen today.
No longer once a beautiful paradise, but metropolis spreading for hundreds of miles, even the very surface of the planet is artificial, all controlled and bound by the Irken placed in charge of maintaining it. A race that was nearly psychotic in its quest for order and rule produced a planet that retained very little of its original state.
The only thing that Commander Vult had to thank for that was transit from place to place was quick and efficient, unhindered by terrain, formations, or any other form of natural occurrences. The base was equally perfect in dimension and symmetrical. That had some merit for being a logical constructive feature, making a position easier to defend from invading forces, but the thought that another race of the universe had the forces and firepower to assault the Irken homeworld was laughable at best.
Besides…nature was uncontrollable and ugly by Irken standards, and thus, must be terminated.
"Here we are," Vult thought, straightening out his new uniform, mainly for show to the common soldier when not operation on-mission. It was a standard Spec-Ops uniform, black in color with deep purple edging, reminiscent of his Irken Elite uniform, his rank boldly imprinted on the shoulder paldoron. The resembled fatigues more than combat armor, complete with polished boots and all, and decided it was for the better he looked as professional as possible on his scouting for members of his unit.
His quick stroll from the landing pad and a check for clearance brought him to a barracks, one of many that made up a literal city of an Armada base, host to hundreds of thousands of soldiers serving the Irken Empire. More or less gentle-sloping domes that rose out of the ground, they were the only home soldiers, or any Irken for that matter, would know.
The Irken Commander rapped several times on a heavy, metallic door, hearing it echo from within dully. The tumblers sounded and promptly released the lock, swinging inward to reveal a considerably tall individual, dressed very similarly to Vult prior this current assignment.
Compared to Vult, he towered over him with nearly 6 inches of stature, Sula even rivaling his height. Lt. Corr was a prime example of military prowess in Irken form.
"Yes…Commander?" Corr questioned politely, looking closer at Vult's uniform for his rank, surprised that he was outranked by someone shorter than him, but shook the notion free for a moment. "How may I be of service?"
"You are Lt. Corr, correct, Sir?" Vult respected the hierarchy, despite his rank, getting a nod of agreement, "Do you have a moment to discuss something in…private?"
Perplexed, and possessing every right to be at the moment, Corr stood to the side to allow Vult access into his quarters.
"Of course, Commander," he gestured politely, more curious to anything. "May I ask something of you though, Sir?"
"You're taller than me, Lieutenant," Vult pointed out with a smirk, "I should be asking you why you don't demand me to attention or salute you, all that nonsense. Those blessed with stature tend to be quite egotistical."
Vult remained standing while Corr found a seat on the edge of his neatly pressed bunk, fit to military regulations. The whole room that played host to his quarters was in neat and perfect order, nothing out of place. Other than standard issue equipment, it was barren, all except an interesting display at the other side of the room of ancient weapons. Curiosity could wait for the moment though.
"That is true, Sir, but in the technical standpoint, Commander outranks Lieutenant in the traditional command structure," he neatly quoted, almost proud to retain such knowledge, quickly brought on by a bout of embarrassment, "…I apologize, Sir, I got a little carried away there, I like to study military history in my free time, that just happens to be something I've picked up along the way."
"No need to apologize," Vult continued, feeling a little more relaxed around the seemingly prestigious Irken soldier. "Where are my manners at? I am Commander Vult, Special Operations…for appearances, that is, but the rank remains the same."
"May I ask why you're here, Commander?"
Much like with Sula, it took a moment to prepare how and what he was to say, especially to a superior by Armada regulations. Vult seemed a little wary of his surroundings, assured they were secure, and even went to the extent to lean forward a little to speak softer.
"I am currently tasked by the Almighty Tallest themselves with forming a unit that answers to absolutely no one but them, missions at their discretion, and fighting in a most unconventional way. The Armada and allies cannot know of our operations, hence the precautions I've taken thus far. I need soldiers, good ones, just like you, Lt. Corr, to fill my ranks. I need skilled soldiers, veterans of conflict, not fresh recruits just unhooked from the simulations. Our missions are of the highest priority, and it will be a service the Empire will be forever endowed with. All I ask of those that wish to take part is to come under my command, past that, you are free to do as you please within reason. What do you think, Lieutenant? You interested?"
Corr was confused, but shocked as well. The Almighty Tallest' personal unit, much like the Honor Guard, but unseen and unheard, operating in total secrecy, and the highest absolute honor that could be given to any soldier. Those that weren't born with the privlages of serving in the Honor Guard could try for a lifetime to be accepted into the rigorous training program, only to wash out…or die. In any case, this sounded like the next best thing, if not better, and opportunity to serve the Irken Empire was definitely present.
"I truly don't know what to say, Commander," Corr began, finally shaking the awe of the concept away, returning to logic, and quite possibly something Vult didn't want to hear, "but I am up for evaluation for my next promotion soon, if I don't wait for it, I may never get another chance."
"Well, when is it scheduled, Lieutenant? I'm sure we can work something out."
"It hasn't been yet, Commander, but my commanding officer said it would be within the next…several…months, possibly at that." Corr painfully informed, realizing that once he said it out loud, the less likely it was going to happen. "Oh Irk…"
"I want you to think hard about your decision, Sir," Vult spoke, hoping to lighten up his spirits, "and I know this will sway your choice, even if I say to not allow it, but…I have the power to promote you right here and now. Sure, the paperwork is a technicality, but I need a second-in-command at my side, Lieutenant, and you're just the soldier I'm looking for."
"With all due respect," Corr attempted, nearly floored once more with the offer, "how can I be sure this isn't some kind of test on my loyalty?"
Without a word, Vult plugged his datapad into his PAK, showing Corr the readings of what he was encoded as, reading as follows:
Designation: Soldier
Profession: Infantry (Irken Elite)
Rank:Commander
Armada Branch: Special Operations (Formerly Irken Elite)
Security Clearance: Level 9
"You have Level 9 Security Clearance?" He asked unbelievably, "why…that's limited only to Honor Guard officers and security administrators for the Armada's most secure mainframes."
The Special Operations uniform, a shorter than average Commander…it was all adding up, and it seemed to continue to lean towards Vult telling the truth.
"If you need more proof, Captain," Vult answered with another smirk, avoiding a smile at his enthusiasm. If not, he didn't have anything else for him to bite to be honest. "…I could contact the Almighty Tallest and allow you conference with them."
"That won't be necessary, Commander," Corr responded with a sharp salute as he assumed attention, "you came looking for a soldier, you have one, Sir. If the Almighty Tallest are in need of my skills, than who am I to refuse?"
"Very good, Captain. As for your orders for the time being, I'll know where to find you, for now, relax for a little while and await further instruction, I have much work to do yet."
"Yes, Sir," the promoted Captain stated properly, accepting his position beneath Vult's command and his last assignment he would ever be given. Whether Vult simply didn't question or was avoiding it all together, there were plenty of other candidates to approach, and to be honest, quite more qualified than Corr was. Sure, he was as good as any other soldier, a solid, dependable leader, and subservient of his superiors, but something struck him as odd as to precisely why this Spec Ops Commander, a shorter than usual one at that, would approach him of anyone in the Armada.
"Permission to speak freely, Sir?" Corr requested as Vult was about to leave his quarters, getting him to turn around once more to face his newly-recruited Captain.
"Proceed, Captain."
"Why did you seek me out? What is it that placed me above others to be recruited for such an assignment?"
"Like I said before, Corr," Vult began with a sigh, "the Empire called on me, and thus, you to serve it to our dying breath. As for selecting you…vengeance will be swift and merciless for Praxxus 7, I swear by it. If you could survive that, much like I did, then there isn't anything in the universe that can bring us down."
Corr remained silent, simply nodding in agreement. He held his side, just below the ribcage, the apparent site of a still-healing wound inflicted to him on that cursed moon of Vort.
"So what caused the wound?" Joker butted into the story, trying to debunk the idea that this elderly, withered husk was once a feared soldier of the Empire's best kept secret.
Without a word, Corr opened his desk, setting something from within on top of it. It appeared to be some kind of bladed weapon, possibly fixated to a rifle or other weapon if need be. It was rare to see any weapon that wasn't energy based in this day and age.
"Vortian vibroblade," Corr stated, tracing a line on his abdomen, "our position was overrun on Praxxus 7 by a counterattack, my unit was forced into hand-to-hand combat. I found out the hard way how dangerous this thing is and was nearly severed by it from here to here. If the recovery unit hadn't found me when they did, I would have been left there to die, slowly and painfully bleeding to death."
The three of them cringed within, thinking of the damage wrought by such a piece of equipment.
"So who's this Vult guy?" Digits questioned, very interested in what had happened thus far, "I've heard mention of him as being an instructor, much like you were, around here a long time ago…is he the very same one you speak of?"
"Yes, Commander Vult, along with the other members of the unit aided in the formation of the Irken Republic, secretly, of course. We trained the first batch of soldiers, considerably downsizing the Armada, but producing a higher quality soldier in general. Even in the open, we are still in the shadows…"
"What happens next? I want to hear tales of your missions and what you did as a Shadow Striker, Professor." DZ requested energetically.
"I'm getting there, just calm down," he smiled at the Irken Recruit seated before him. His eagerness reminded him much of himself in his youth, "You'll hear it soon enough, but there was one last recruitment story that I'm sure Commander Vult would want you to hear."
"Are you sure you're in the right place, Commander?" The prison guard questioned, a bit smaller than Vult was, but still intimidating with his stun staff and riot gear. "You do realize that this is a prison and not a military base, right, Sir?"
"Of course I do," Vult replied seriously, checking his datapad, "and if my information is correct, you have a current inmate somewhere by the name of Aero."
"We do, Sir, a Sgt. 1st Class Mechanical Technician, but she's on the docket to be sent for assessment, and if the charges and behavioral problems are true, more than likely deactivation for being defective."
"Is she here or not?" The Irken Commander snapped, this guard testing his patience. Everything he had to say, Vult already knew of and was well aware.
"Yes, Sir," the guard replied, remembering his position, "this is an odd request to say the least, but she is waiting for you in the interrogation room. Would you like an escort to ensure your safety, Sir?"
"That won't be necessary," He responded, walking past him, arms folded behind his back with a comfortable gait. "I'll summon you when I am finished."
The pneumatic door hissed open, revealing a blank, bland room of darkened metal, save for the barred window to the door, lighting, and minimal seating, it was barren. The figure sat across the table was shackled at the ankles and wrists, bathed in darkness. Her form was visible, features not so much, but it was clear that she was tall…extremely tall at that. The Almighty Tallest may have been just that, but she was still impressive at almost a foot shorter than they were.
"Another quack from the think tank to "assess" my "defective" nature," she venomously commented from the darkness, appearing to not be interested in whatever Vult had to say.
"Sgt 1st Class Aero, I presume?" Vult began courteously, adjusting in hopes of becoming comfortable in the rigid seat.
"Depends on who's asking."
"Commander Vult, Special Operations," He offered, hoping to garner her attention.
"…a bit short to be a Commander, aren't you?
"I seem to get that a lot lately," Vult said, more or less to himself, but she could hear it as well. "In any case, I'm here with a…proposition."
She leaned forward from the darkness at a startling rate, surprising Vult, and came within a mere inch of his face. Orbs of deep magenta stared back at him. Her antenna twitched periodically, signifying her current mood, negative at that, with the situation as the curled ends sporadically moved.
"I've told every other idiot that has come my way, wanting to know why am the way I am or offering something in hope of getting me to open up to their ridiculous theories for testing…what makes you so different?"
"…well…for starters," Vult attempted, despite the difference in rank, she was nearly twice his size, "I'm not a scientist, I'm a soldier, just like you. I know what you're here for, but that doesn't matter to me. What I'm interested in is your skill at your assigned profession as a Mechanical Technician."
"Alright, I'll bite then," Aero finally caved in, very eccentric for someone of her stature, "what could you possibly offer and be in a position to deliver?"
"…how about your freedom, for starters," Vult spoke, instantly gaining her full attention, which was a conflict all in its own thus far. Her antenna perked up upon hearing that. "…that's right, I have the power to do that. I've been given quite a bit of leverage and clearance by the Almighty Tallest themselves. You ready to throw me out the door yet?"
"…keep talking, Commander," Aero slyly spoke, leaning forward to listen intently.
"You're a Mechanical Technician, good with tools, and known how to fix nearly everything in the Irken arsenal…but how good are you?"
"Me? You're asking me how good I am?" She laughed, quickly reverting to seriousness once more, "I'm the best damn mechanic you'll ever find in the Armada. Maim-Bots, Megadoomers, Deathwave Cannons, Spittle Runners, you name it, I can fix it. One of the few things I'm in here for is attempting to reverse-engineer a SIR unit…didn't turn out so well if you couldn't tell, but vehicles and mechs, I've got you covered."
Now he was getting somewhere. Aero may not have been the most respectful to anyone, but she definitely took pride in her assignment in the Irken Empire. Tampering with Empire property, such as the SIR units, was frowned upon, but she didn't seem to be the kind to abide by rules and regulations anyway…odd for someone of her height. She could easily be a Fleet Commander if she wanted to, but she was a lowly Mechanic.
"What about starships? Any space-faring craft?"
"Anything in the Armada, hell, given the chance, I could perform maintenance on the Massive itself. Anything else out there in the universe is child's play compared to Irken complexity."
"Qualified then, are we?" Vult continued, seeing how she had come to life only moments before.
"More than you'll ever know," Aero returned with a confident smirk, but it faded, "…doesn't matter now though…next transport coming in is taking me to Judgementia, where I'll be more than likely deactivated."
"When I said I had the power to do certain…things, I meant it," Vult assured, keeping her from becoming depressed, "join my unit, under my command, and answer to no one else. All I ask is that you follow my orders. The Tallest tasked me with forming their personal squad at the call; I need you for this, Aero. The more one individual Irken can do, the fewer I need, and the easier it is to keep things quiet."
"…You saying you can bust me out of here then?" Her curled antenna perked up once more.
"Only on that single condition that you work for me now," Vult smirked, glad that she didn't focus so much on regulations…badgering him was enough, but having to call her "Ma'am" probably wouldn't have went well with such disrespect on her behalf. "…otherwise, good luck with your assessment, hopefully you aren't deactivated."
"That's a no-brainer, Commander," Aero smiled, her large magenta eyes shimmering, "you want a mechanic, you got one. I'll follow you out those doors right now."
"Not yet, Aero," he spoke, seeing it diminish slightly, "but soon, very soon. You'll know when it's time, I assure you."
Not long after the complete and utter disaster formerly known as Operation Impending Doom, Almighty Tallest Red and Purple, as they are known, began seeking alternatives to keeping the mighty Irken Empire just that, mighty, in the face of such utter destruction of the homeworld Irk by one of their own, the now-infamous Invader Zim, banished to Foodcourtia for the destruction of Irk.
As restoration efforts and rebuilding begins, the Empire is weak, much of its own military caught in the swath of destruction created by Zim. In order to prevent a complete and utter collapse into chaos or conquered by rival races of the universe, necessary steps are needed to be taken by the Irken race if it hopes to remain dominant.
In any case, the Almighty Tallest saw not power in numbers, but through intimidation...and secrecy. Though a full-scale military and armada were necessary for total conquest of planets, races, and the protection of them, there were some assignments and scenarios that called for a little more…finesse than ground forces numbering in the thousands or fragile situations that would be completely forgone by the Armada.
What they had in mind was a unit solid in faith in the Irken Empire and the Almighty Tallest, uncompromised soldiers that would willingly give their lives if need be for the good of the mission, and do the bidding of the highest powers in the Irken Empire.
This secret sect of a unit would be known as many things throughout the common ranks of the Irken military, such as "The "Shadow's Might" and "The Tallests' Fist", but due to the…nature of their operation, much of what they would do and would be responsible for would remain a mystery to the common Irken. This was yet another desired effect of the unit, only reporting directly to the Almighty Tallest of the Irken Empire, and in rare cases, the Irken Supreme Commander of the Elite Guard for their assignments. T
he fewer Irken that knew of this unit, the better in everyone's best interest. Searching didn't take long to find a competent and fitting leader for such a unit.
A Lieutenant of the Elite Irken Guard, the Empire's most prestigious and well-known fighting force, was called forth, a prime candidate for a special..."assignment" that the Tallest had in store. Vult was a veteran of several campaigns, mainly a survivor of the Praxxus 7 assault that ended in complete catastrophe, for which he swore vengeance.
A tried and true soldier with so much loyalty to the Irken Empire and Almighty Tallest, he would give his life if need be to keep them safe...a prime choice for the Shadow Strikers. This Lieutenant known as Vult graciously accepted his Tallests' request, promoting him to the rank of Commander, but he had one small stipulation to add...that he hand-selected his soldiers.
Not only would it limit the number of those knowledgeable of this unit, but he could put much trust and even his life in their hands for reliance on one another in the field. It didn't take long, but Commander Vult found his soldiers that would make up the Shadow Strikers unit. 9 of the Empire's most diverse, highly-skilled, and even eccentric soldiers were personally handed "transfers" by Commander Vult, and were well on their way out of their mundane lives in the Irken Empire's ranks and thrown into a world shrouded in secrecy, conspiracy, and much, much more awaited them for those who accepted.
Abnormally barren compared to other facilities that constructed and manufactured the spaceships of the mighty Irken Armada, there was one...peculiar looking one docked at the far end, a very sleek and streamlined version of a Spittle Runner Transport craft, simply hovering in its berth at Dock 23-E.
Familiar in shape for the most part, the color scheme vastly conflicted that of the traditional Irken Armada ships, colored a very flat, dull black with dark red accents and trim, it didn't attract attention...as intended. It also seemed to be armed a little heavier than the standard Runner as well. The most noticeable aspect about its design based off the Spittle Runner was the fact that it was much larger in size, but nowhere near the size of the warships in the Armada.
Rummaging around, however, seemed to be several Irken, dressed in their respective unit uniforms, consisting of 6 Irken Elite, a Medical Officer, and Communications Technician. With them was their worldly belongings, all that was provided to them by the Empire.
"I'm assuming that we're all here for the same reason, right?" one of the Irken Elite questioned of the few that stood around him, looking at the ship, "it's the only one here and no one has a clue as to what we're to be doing."
"Did a Commander by the name of Vult belonging to Special Operations approach you about this transfer?"
"Yup," he quickly answered, "I got these orders yesterday and now I'm here, as instructed, just like a good little soldier….name's Haxx, by the way."
Haxx, Sgt. Haxx at that, was a little different than the average soldier. He was of the majority of the Irken population, magenta eyes and placid green skin, antenna of nothing special worth mentioning. He was about average height, shorter than Vult, but within contention, and was broader at the shoulders. Being a Heavy Weapons expert, he was used to lugging around large pieces of equipment, especially his favorite, the Heavy Plasma Repeater. It was a scaled-down version of the HPC in portable form…still rips your arms from your sockets if you weren't ready for it though. Haxx may not have looked it, but he was easily the physically strongest one present.
"Rha," the other nodded, his face seeming to upturned in a permanent scowl. Partially due to his scar that ran down between his eyes and beneath the left, far too wide to be a simple gash. It wasn't fresh by any means, but there was only one place he could have received such a reminder…Praxxus 7.
"Did you just say you're name was Rha?" Haxx snickered, almost instantly feeling the intensity of the other's anger boil. "A bit feminine, don't you think?"
"You got a problem with that?" Rha growled, his claws balled up into fists.
One thing Haxx couldn't stand was being threatened, especially by the likes of this guy.
"What if I do? What are you going to do about it, tough guy?" Haxx responded, ready to see what this lowly Corporal planned on doing. Just about that time, a female Irken stepped between them, pushing them apart.
"Alright, boys, that's enough," she stated, putting distance between them, "no need in killing each other just yet with all this secrecy going on. I'm sure they'll be plenty of stuff you guys can kill and vent some of this anger."
"Just who do you think you are?" Haxx questioned quizzingly, taken back by her…features, but not in the attracted sense. It was impossible to see her eye color through what appeared to be optical devices that were grafted atop them, but still allowed for the usual expression of emotions, complete with a pilot's harness and rigging on her uniform. She was a flyboy, well, flygirl in this case, through and through.
"Rem, Navigator Rem if you want to get technical," she spoke, antenna twitching with pride as she spoke, turning to the ship hovering at dock behind them, "…and I get to pilot that thing, I'm really looking forward to it…and just for the record, I happen to think that Rha is a suitable name for either male or female, Sergeant."
"At least someone else thinks so," Rha said under his breath, turning his attention to the others present, "who else is going on this little cruise and find out just what the Irk is going on?"
Aero motioned towards an extremely short Irken, quite possibly the shortest one anyone had ever seen in person before. He wore goggles over his eyes, as well as communications equipment as he appeared to be talking to no one in particular, except for a small hovering drone next to him. Every time he finished speaking, the drone would react someway by flying around the near space, appearing to give its response.
"That's Vard, apparently who's going to be our Communication Technician. He's a bit shy from what I can tell, but he sure loves that drone thing of his." She spoke, fascinated with the display, but motioned towards another, a reclusive soldier sitting by himself, "I think his name's Tuu or something, he hasn't said a word since I've been here. Plays the mysterious bit all too well if you ask me."
"Who's the short, pissed-off looking one?" Haxx pointed out, about that time, she approached them.
"That's Lieutenant Volx to you, Sergeant," she hissed poisonously, the single scar over her eye didn't help the image she created at all. "Commander Vult and Captain Corr will be here any moment, I suggest the lot of you stop screwing around and come to attention."
"Oh whose authority?" Haxx challenged, leaning down a little into her face.
"I outrank you, Sergeant, so mine," Volx continued without remorse in her words.
"Rank doesn't mean squat, you're like a foot and a half shorter than me, pipsqueak."
"You're lucky I'm more reserved than your friend here, Sergeant," She seethed through clenched teeth, "but watch yourself, you don't want to be on my bad side."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he waved on like it was nothing
"You're in my world now," Volx assured threateningly, "I've been doing this line of work in infiltration and not being a complete moron like yourself since you were a smeet. If you want to survive, I suggest you watch yourself and pay attention, Haxx."
Just as Haxx was about to retort with something, preferably a harsh obscenity in their native language, Corr and Vult approached at a quick pace, both in Spec Ops uniforms.
"Atten-HUH!" He bellowed, the 8 soldiers present falling into line from tallest to shortest as they were always instructed to do. The exception of following Vult's orders, despite his height, was the only difference at the moment. That was the deal, and now they were to see why. "What is this? You're not in the Armada anymore, boys and girls, I do things a little differently here."
Perplexed as to what he meant, he grew impatient as not a single soldier moved.
"By rank, highest to lowest, not height, on the double!"
It took a little longer than he thought, but they were finally at attention correctly now, with Volx first and Rha last, the spread from Lieutenant to Corporal. Corr remained at Vult's side, just as he was to do as second-in-command.
"Good, now that's better." Vult commented, walking slowly up and down the line of soldier, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't even need to force being intimidating, "first o all, I'd like to welcome all of you to your first official day as what Captain Corr and myself have decided to call this unit…Shadow Strikers. Shadow Strikers need no one but their brothers-in-arms. Shadow Strikers are the Empire's finest examples of military prowess the Armada has to offer. We are silent, unheard, and most of all, loyal to the cause….if you don't think you can handle that or aren't up to the grueling tasks ahead of us, step forward. I, nor those present will think nothing less of you, this is a very dangerous and secretive line of work, without support, without aid from your fellow soldiers in the Armada, and everything you do will go unrecognized by the Empire, no matter how heroic. Would anyone like to walk away while they have the chance?"
The line remained a rigid as ever, no one present refusing to give up before it even started. Some, like Aero, had nowhere else to go. Others, such as Corr, saw much opportunity to serve the Irken Empire to the fullest. All of them, however, would have their lives changed as soldiers from this day forward.
"Good, glad to know I chose wisely," Vult beamed inwardly, but still remained unchanged on the surface. "You all have been officially removed from the Armada databases, marked as KIA, you no longer exist, you are ghosts, spirits that strike from the darkness without remorse, without mercy. Your training for such a special assignment will begin promptly, you will learn to not only fight, but to survive, and to rely on only these soldiers to your sides. The Armada's simulators have weakened the primal warrior that resides within all of us…it's time to coax it out in full force. Our enemies, the enemies of the Irken Empire, and enemies of the Almighty Tallest will feel our wrath and be dealt with swiftly. All of you know what I speak of when I say now is the opportunity given to us to seek vengeance for what happened on Praxxus 7, how all of you survived that ordeal, while many around you, friends and acquaintances, did not. Do not let their lives, nor the hundreds of thousands across the galaxy, be in vain."
Vult paused, seeing the determination to seek out what he wanted of them. He wanted veterans of warfare scared of nothing, and he got them. An interesting bunch at best, but they all knew how to do what they were assigned to do, rather well at that.
"Without further delay, from this day forward, you are all official Shadow Strikers, even in plain sight, we wait in the shadows. Let me hear it from you."
"Even in plain sight, we wait in the shadows!" The 8 soldiers sounded off in unison.
"What was that? I can't hear you."
"Even in plain sight, we wait in the shadows!" The group resounded once more with vigor.
"That's more like it," Vult praised, turning to Corr, "Captain, take over from here, time to get things squared away."
"Yes, Sir, Commander," Corr obeyed, seeing that now was business, "Squad, dismissed! Grab your gear and get on the ship. Move it, we don't have all day!"
It was necessary to motivate, but Corr wasn't a fan of traditional superiors as it seemed, constantly yelling and screaming to get things done by those in their command, Corr's own former C.O. was exactly like that.
"Time to see what exactly Commander Vult has planned for us and why all of these security measures and secrecy is necessary," he thought as he followed Rha, the last man of the squad to board the large ship, "I can already tell that things will never be the same again…I'm looking forward to it."