Chapter 15 - "The Titan Movement"

Sean stepped from the black and silver '68 Hurst/Olds Sport Coupe, slamming the door shut. Letting out a sigh, Sean lifted his eyes up to the building before him. The GCPD complex was bigger than most police departments, at least those Sean had seen. It looked to be four or five stories, and that's discounting the possibility of lower levels below the streets.

Honestly, Sean didn't know why the GCPD needed such a large building. Sure, Gotham was huge and all, but there weren't a huge amount of cops hired—probably because many had been killed by gangsters, and there weren't enough brave citizens to step up and take their places.

It all didn't really mean much to Sean. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He was here for one purpose and one purpose only: find out what this "solution" was exactly.

Sean entered into the complex, glancing around nervously. He had no cause to be; he hadn't done anything wrong, but he always had this nagging feeling that he was being lured into the GCPD to be arrested for something.

Once he stepped into the lobby, a female desk cop glanced to him and offered a smile. "Hello," she greeted, then added, "what can I help you with?"

Sean shoved his hands into his jacket's pockets, his trademark grin plastered across his face. "I'm here to see Commissioner Gordon. About some—"

His Irish accent only seemed to increase the size of her grin before he mentioned Gordon. When he did, her smile snapped away. "Oh! You're here for the Commissioner's little . . . project, with the Gotham bigwigs."

Sean gave a slight nod. "Yep. That's it."

The cop nodded back and got to her feet, pointing to an elevator. "If you go in the elevator and take it, go to floor three and look for the conference room. Room two-nine-nine."

Another flash of his grin, and Sean was on the move. "Thank you." As he strolled past, the door clanged open behind him. While he was walking to the elevator, he glanced over his shoulder and saw a young woman rushing in. He could tell she was pregnant. Wonder what a pregnant woman's gotta do with the GCPD.

Sean walked into the elevator and reached for the panel inside when he heard the woman say, "I'm here for the meeting with the Commissioner and the others," out of breath. The female cop turned and pointed to the elevator, where Sean had just tapped the floor three key. Quickly, as the doors began to slide shut, he thrust his arm out, cutting off their closure.

The woman gave a nod of thanks to the cop and began to move towards the elevator. She flicked her dark eyes up to Sean for a second before lowering them again and whispered, "Thank you," as she entered the elevator alongside him. He removed his hand and the doors closed, lifting the passengers up to floor three.

"So, you got tied up in the GCPD's little movement too, huh?" Sean asked, turning and grinning to the young woman.

She nodded. "Yeah. I was getting worried I'd be late." She paused suddenly, and Sean scratched the mop of red curls atop his head.

"Late? It's only six-fifty-eight. You've got two minutes to spare."

"I know," the young woman continued. "But . . . I just get . . . worried whenever I run late."

A few more seconds passed before Sean extended his hand out. "Sean. Sean O'Malley."

The woman took his hand and finally settled her gaze on his eyes. "Jemima Allson."

"Jemima," Sean said, testing the name. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I find it a little . . . odd that the GCPD has called upon a pregnant girl for their little team."

A light chuckle escaped Jemima's lips. "You'd think so, if I was in the middle of the action. But I'm not. That is, I won't be." She paused, then said, "I'm going to university for computer classes. I was contacted by Wayne Enterprises to use my computer skills for this movement."

The mention of Wayne caused Sean to stiffen. "Ah. Wayne."

"Yeah." She paused and arched an eyebrow, "You know him?"

"Of him," Sean corrected. He let out a deep sigh. "You ever wonder, sometimes, why rich people hoard up all their money and never seem to give any away to help people who need it?"

The comment seemed to startle Jemima, who searched for words. "He does give to charities and stuff, and—"

"And sleeps around. Well, not so much as some other people, but he chases women more than he helps people. At least, it seems that way to me."

An awkward silence filled the air between them, and Sean sensed it. Breaking back into his lax personality, he let out a slight chuckle. "But who am I to be bringing in my own grudges into this." He glanced back to Jemima and said, "So you work in tech?"

"Computers, yeah." When Jemima finished, the elevator door opened, and Sean gestured for her to go first. "I guess they want me to monitor computers and stuff for this little team they're putting together." She paused and then said, "If I'm not prying, what's your part in this? Like you're . . . skillset."

A light laugh escaped Sean as he said, "Well, I was injected with a mutagen when I was a kid. Helped my metabolism pace my strength and speed. They're more powerful than that of regular humans."

Jemima's eyes were widening as he recounted his skills to her. "Whoa," she finally said. "I've never actually met someone who's had superpowers before."

Now that elicited a laugh from Sean. "I don't know if I'd quite call 'em superpowers. I can't fly or anything or shoot lasers from my eyes."

Jemima chuckled along with him as Sean eyed the door numbers. "Ah. Here we are. Conference room." He gripped the door handle and opened it up, and Jemima led the way inside. Sean followed, closing the door.

Words couldn't describe the feeling of awkwardness that Sean felt as he and Jemima entered the room. All chatter between the inhabitants stopped and all eyes it seemed fell on them. He felt as he did in school, whenever he came into class late and the teacher was prepared to scold him.

The teacher in this case would've been the man who was without the trench coat he generally wore while on-duty. Commissioner Gordon had a tan button-up dress shirt on with the sleeves rolled up, and a red tie loosened around his neck. His arms crossed, Gordon turned to the two newcomers and smiled.

Sean kept from withholding an arch of his eyebrow. Gordon smiled at him? He must really be desperate. "Everyone, this is Sean O'Malley. And you must be Jemima Allson, if my reports are correct," Gordon said, shuffling papers in his hands.

Jemima nodded. She was evidently too embarrassed to speak, standing before a crowd of strangers. Sean couldn't blame her, really. He'd be the first guy to crack a joke among a large gathering he felt in power of, but when he was in a room full of strangers, he'd sooner jump out the window then offer up a speech of greeting.

"You two may take seats at the conference table," Gordon added, gesturing to the long table sitting before them. A quick count told Sean that there were twenty-one chairs pulled up around the table. Of those twenty, all but five were filled. Quickly, Sean moved towards a chair next to a guy with long brown hair. He gave a brisk nod to the man and a smile before he took the seat. Jemima sat down between two people, a dark-skinned man with a close-cropped beard and clad in a black business suit and—

Oh, no.

The other guy sitting next to Jemima was big, and it looked like he might either fall out of the chair or break it, then fall out. Sean withheld the scowl coming to his lips to meet the one that the guy was giving him.

The guy was Harvey Bullock, a detective who had been the one to put the cuffs on Sean when he was arrested. Normally, Sean would've been able to fight off a cop, but first off, he didn't know Bullock was there. Second, when he heard Bullock scream out, the next thing he knew a bulldozer—or maybe just a bull—had rammed into him, sending him sprawling to the asphalt. Then what felt like a thousand pounds came upon him, grinding his face into the cement, screaming, "Don't move, punk!"

He'd recognize the guy anywhere.

Gordon stepped towards the table, taking the seat at the end of it, next to Bullock and a shaggy-haired guy with a beard. Gordon slapped the papers vertically onto the table, straightening them out. Clearing his throat, Gordon looked back and forth between the different people around the table. "It looks like all but two are accounted for," he said, before he turned to Bullock. "I think we can take care of one of them now."

Bullock gave a curt nod and climbed from his chair, moving to another door at the other side of the room. Popping the door open, he called out, "Bring her in!"

He stepped back to his chair as one cop stepped in, and following him was a tall, green . . . girl?

At least it looked like a girl. She was well over six feet, and her hands and feet looked to be slightly enlarged. Her hair was long, green, and stringy, like seaweed.

Sean scratched at his chin. It should've hit him well before then, but that was the moment he realized that this was going to be an interesting meeting. A very interesting meeting.

Renee Montoya was sitting her patrol car, leaning back in the seat. To her right, Wyatt Fletcher let out a sigh. "This is the most boring stakeout I've ever been on," he muttered.

Montoya chuckled. "This is your first stakeout, Fletch."

A moment of silence passed, and Montoya held back the urge to laugh. "Oh, yeah," Fletcher muttered after realization set in. "Still, this is the most boring day I've had as a cop."

Montoya almost retorted how Fletcher had only been a cop for a few months, but she withheld it. She had already picked on her young partner enough for one night. Leave him be, she figured.

"You can say that again," was all she said. She reached for the radio at the car's console. "I'll call in and see if we can get a break from—"

All of a sudden, rip-roaring shredding noises filled the air. Montoya knew the sound: machine guns. "Get down!" she yelled, and she and Fletcher both ducked just in time to avoid the flurry of bullets tearing through the windshield and ripping the headrests of their seats to shreds.

Fletcher breathed a curse as he snapped his sidearm free. "Where'd they come from?!" he yelled, and Montoya shook her head.

"I don't know!" she yelled back, twisting on the key in the ignition, gunning the car's engine. She didn't even know what to do or how to get out of there. She just knew she had to do something.

It was uncomfortable to manage, but she was able to pump the gas after shifting the car into reverse. She heard the tires spin against the pavement as the car zoomed backwards, stopped by a forceful crash into some solid surface.

"We're stuck," she spat, and Fletcher flung the passenger door open. "Fletcher! What are you doing?" Montoya yelled, and the young cop glanced back.

"We've got nowhere to go, so I'm gonna at least find out where they are and let 'em know we aren't sitting ducks!"

Before Montoya could shout back, Fletcher crawled from the car. He aimed through the crevice between the door and the car and squeezed the trigger, sending several rounds blaring through the space before him. More machine gun fire tore through the air, splintering against the car. Fletcher dove for cover just in time.

By this time, Montoya had wrenched the radio free. "This is Montoya—we're pinned down at the stakeout. It was a setup; I repeat, it was a setup!" Only static answered.

Montoya froze. "The radio . . . we've got no signal," she muttered, and Fletcher's face turned pale. Montoya glanced to him, and saw the look of fear etched into his face. The look of death.

Annalise had been grateful for the relief the entry of the two newcomers had provided. The guy who had taken the seat next to her—he gave his name as Clyde—was dressed to fit the picture of a cowboy, complete with a hat and the revolver slung to his hip.

He was giving her the full routine, laying on his southern charm hard. She appreciated the playful flirting at first, but it kind of had grown old after a little. The entry of the newcomers, and the green girl afterwards, had opened her an escape route away from the conversation she had been growing bored of.

She knew that she was getting involved in a wide group of people, but she hadn't been expecting such a variety. She had never seen someone quite like this green girl, even in all her time living in different eras. She knew such people existed, mutants between humans and otherwise, but she had never seen someone like this in person.

A couple people she had known from before the meeting. Mayor Hamilton Hill was someone she had not personally met, but know of him and his dealings. She thought positively of him overall, but she couldn't help but feel that he wasn't doing enough to help Gotham over his own political security.

The other two Gotham politicians were also acquaintances of hers. She had met both at galas Bruce had held before. Harvey Dent, the DA, was someone that Annalise viewed with tentative trust. His charm seemed genuine, as did his optimistic plans for Gotham. But the other one . . . Arthur Reeves—he made her skin crawl.

Sure, she did divulge in flirtatious banter, but when and with who she wanted to. Reeves had been like a wild dog, not leaving her alone at the party she had met him at. She almost punched him square in the face if Bruce hadn't pried him away. For that, she was thankful.

Gordon she had known about for quite some time, and respected him for his work. The detective he had with him she hadn't met before, but he seemed like a rather brusque person. And lastly was someone she did know, probably best of all those in the room: Lucius Fox, one of Bruce's closest friends and one of the highest-ranking members of Wayne Enterprises.

She had spoke with a few of those present, and from their first encounter, she seemed to get along with pretty much everyone. Even Clyde, despite his overly flirty introduction, seemed like a nice guy. She had spoken to a girl named Aria, who was there with her father. She had caught Annalise's eye because even though she was as old as Annalise looked, she required use of a cane. Through what she was able to learn, Annalise hadn't quite pegged the reason why yet.

The thing that probably jumped out most at Annalise was how young most of them looked. Beyond those who acted as the heads of the operation, all the members looked to be still in their younger years. The oldest one, if Annalise had to guess, would be the shaggy-haired, bearded guy who sat next to Gordon. He didn't necessarily look old, but he seemed to be the most level-headed and mature person of the bunch.

But all but maybe four of the members still looked to be in their teens, or at the very least early twenties. The guy who sat next to Gordon, the redhead who came in later, Clyde, and a young woman with a red bob haircut who kept to herself all seemed like they were at least mid-twenties or older. Everyone else looked like a kid.

Well, I imagine I do, too, Annalise thought to herself. She had to keep reminding herself that even though she had been around for over five hundred years, she looked like she had barely been around for two decades. It would be quite strange, considering she felt more like she would be acting like a mother figure to them than a peer.

When the police officer had brought the green girl in, audible gasps sounded around the room. Annalise withheld any sudden movements, but she did feel a twinge of a smile at her lips when Clyde gave a start in the chair next to her. At least his mind's on someone else now.

"Everyone, this is . . . Vermin," Gordon said slowly, standing to his feet. Annalise could feel her heart begin to quiver for this girl. The name alone seemed like a cruel trait of her; she wondered if the girl had called herself this, or if it had been assigned to her by someone else. "She's one of the two missing members of our team. She's stayed around the GCPD for a few days."

The girl—Vermin—stepped into the room and took a chair quietly. Her eyes wandered, taking in the looks she was getting from everyone spread around the table. Annalise tried to offer a smile when the girl's eyes passed hers, but she didn't know if she caught it.

Gordon checked his watch. "Our other member should be here soon. If not, we may have to begin without him. Hopefully he arrives soon."

Romero gunned the engines of the motorcycle he used to ferry himself across Gotham. I'm late, I'm late, I'm late.

He hadn't intended to be late; the chips sort of just fell that way, and it couldn't be helped. He risked a glance at the clock mounted on the motorcycle; 7:15. He huffed out a breath and idled the bike down the next turn. He should be there within five minutes—barring any unforeseen hindrances.

There was quite a fuss that had been put up by the other members of his gang when he and Jace informed them of the invitation he had gotten. At first, no one really seemed to mind that he had been elected the unanimous messenger between them and the GCPD meeting. They were actually glad.

But then, right before he left, Cathy approached him and suddenly began to insist that she go along too. Romero had spent fifteen minutes telling her that he was fine doing this on his own; he didn't need a babysitter to guide him by the hand. But Cathy—mindful, sweet Cathy—felt that it was too much of a risk. What if it was a trap, she had said. What if the GCPD had tabbed them for pulling the crimes they had committed. But Romero had been adamant in his belief that the GCPD had been honest and they were overlooking their criminal pasts.

At least he hoped so.

Romero parked his motorcycle outside the GCPD complex, and rushed inside. After explaining what he was there for, he followed the desk cop's instructions and rode up in the elevator. Once he reached the third floor, he sped along until he reached the conference room. He entered slowly, fulling expecting the rush of awkwardness once he set foot inside.

And boy, did it arrive.

Immediately as he stepped in, Romero felt all eyes on him. What little color there was rushed to his cheeks, and Romero closed the door behind him. Then a neatly-dressed man with graying hair got to his feet and gestured to the table. "Romero Fenwick, I presume," he said. Romero knew who the guy was right off the bat. Commissioner Jim Gordon.

Romero nodded, and Gordon kept his hand up in a gesture to the table. "Have a seat, Mr. Fenwick."

Romero walked down the side of the table until he came to the last open chair. It was next to a girl with a hood pulled over her head. Her eyes were boring into Romero as he sat down next to her. He flashed her a smile, and she gave him the shadow of one back.

"Now that we are all here," Gordon began, "we can get on with business." Romero glanced about at the faces around the table. Most eyes were back on Gordon and off him, but he saw a guy with a hat—he looked like some modern-day cowboy—sitting next to a beautiful, orange-haired girl staring at him, as if he had never seen someone like him before.

Probably hadn't.

Romero tried to ignore the guy's gaze as he swept his eyes across the table. There were several people his age, perhaps even younger. One girl, with shoulder-length black hair, looked like she might've been like sixteen, about Felix's age. He imagined Felix having been chosen as the representative for the gang. That would've been a disaster.

Gordon gripped the stack of papers in his hands firmly. "I'll quickly go around the table and introduce everyone here. Some of these people you may know, others will likely be new to you."

A red-haired guy across the table from Romero cracked a smile and said with an Irish accent, "I feel like a lad back in play-school. What are we gonna get little name tags and pin 'em to her shirts?" The guy's joke broke the tension, eliciting laughter from around the table.

"I think we can manage without name tags, Mr. O'Malley," Gordon said, himself smiling. He gestured to himself. "For those of you who don't know me, my name's Jim Gordon. I'm the commissioner of the GCPD." Next, he motioned to a big guy slouched in a chair beside him. "This is Detective Harvey Bullock. He'll be present for many of our missions and the like. He's one of the best cops in the department.

"This," he said, gesturing to a dark-skinned man in a suit, "is Lucius Fox, representing Wayne Enterprises. Wayne Enterprises has kindly funded a large portion of this movement to operate. Mr. Fox has been personally assigned to help with any technological issues and to provide us with any tech, if we need it.

"Of course, the next man is Mayor Hamilton Hill. He needs no introduction." The mayor gave a brisk nod. Romero eyed the mayor with contempt. He couldn't help but feel that the city might be better off if someone else was running the show. What had Hill done in his time in Gotham? Let the crime families run rampant?

"Then we have District Attorney Harvey Dent and City Councilman Arthur Reeves." Romero eyed the two men in question, sitting next to one another. He had heard of both guys, and found them both to be a little too . . . optimistic. Especially Dent. Reeves was more of a philanderer who filled a political office.

"Lastly is Spencer Saint-Claire," Gordon said, gesturing to a middle-aged guy sitting next to a teenage girl. "Mr. Saint-Claire won't be with us for every meeting. He came tonight to help his daughter, Aria. Spencer is a coroner at the Gotham Hospital."

Once Gordon finished, he dropped a stack of papers down and held the rest of the sheets in his hands. "Now, you all are going to have a lot of time to get to know one another and each other's ins and outs, pros and cons, strengths and weaknesses, all that. This is just going to be a brief introduction, so you all know one another and what you do.

"First up, Dante Herald." Gordon gestured to the man sitting next to him, with shaggy hair and a beard. "Dante's a private investigator who deals in alchemy." Romero raised a curious eyebrow. Alchemy? He knew there was strange stuff in the world—from personal experience—but magic?

"As I already mentioned, Aria Saint-Claire is attending a local college, working for a major in biology." The next member of the team that was introduced was a slim girl, with caramel-colored hair that framed a face that contained both American and Asian features. She looked about shyly, offering a small smile.

"This is John Bridgeman," Gordon continued, gesturing to a guy with long, brown hair. John lifted a hand and waved it, a smile appearing alongside. "John works at a karate studio, but don't think Karate Kid or anything. This is the real deal. He's an experienced fighter.

"Next, as you have all been unofficially introduced to him, is Sean O'Malley." The red-haired Irish guy who'd made the joke earlier still had the same grin on his face as Gordon stumbled for the right words. "Mr. O'Malley is . . . he's a skilled fighter who's seeking to earn money to help his sister." The way he said it hinted at something beneath the surface. What was it, Romero wondered.

"This is Matt Kattegat," Gordon continued, pointing to a guy who looked close to Romero's age. He had blond hair and looked to be well-built, almost like a jock. "Matt is adept in different forms of fighting." Gordon spoke of Matt in a low voice, as if he was searching for a way to cover up something. Romero felt a burning desire to know what the secrets were about each of this people.

"Next is Annalise Blackwood," Gordon said, nodding to the attractive, freckle-faced girl with orange hair. She gave a charismatic smile that made Romero flutter inside. She had to be one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. "Miss Blackwood works at a museum and inspects different artifacts. Bruce Wayne himself is a good friend of Miss Blackwood's and recommended her for hiring." A grin licked at Romero's lips. Good friend indeed, Romero thought.

"Then we have Clyde Darby, a cowboy right out of his own time." Gordon was addressing the guy with the hat who had stared at Romero when he came in. "Mr. Darby has served as a police officer but now travels about, doing work wherever he can find it.

"Then we have Emily Thomson," Gordon said, and the girl he was speaking of was the one Romero thought looked to be the youngest one present. "Emily is the adopted daughter of a skilled inventor—among other titles. She possesses a similar skillset."

"Nansi Kuwes is our next team member," Gordon continued, nodding to the hooded girl beside Romero. He flicked his eyes to her again, and this time some light was peeking beneath the hood. He could see her face better, and even though it was pretty, she seemed to be attempting to hide it behind a shroud of mystery. "Miss Kuwes is a newer resident of Gotham. Like several others, she is an adept fighter with some unique abilities as well.

"Next is Romero Fenwick. Romero," Gordon began, eyes on Romero, "is member of a group of . . ." He searched for the right word to use, and Romero suddenly began to suspect the occupations of some of the other members of this team. Are half of us criminals? Romero wondered with amazement. ". . .youths who, again, are skilled at fighting, among other things.

"This is Mia Andrews," Gordon continued, pointing to a young woman with red hair held in a bob cut. "Miss Andrews served for several years in the CIA before moving her skills elsewhere. She was personally recommended for the team by her former employer.

"Next is, as you have all been introduced to, Vermin. Not much is known about her, but she has agreed to help us in our movement." The person in question was a green-skinned girl. Romero eyed her in amazement. He thought he had been given the short end of things, but at least he still retained some human qualities. This girl . . . she looked almost devoid of human characteristics.

"Next up is someone we only know as Renegade," Gordon said, gesturing to a guy wearing what looked like Kevlar armor, and a red domino mask over his eyes. Guy looks like a Batman fanatic, Romero thought. "As I said, we don't know much about Renegade, but he says that he has been personally trained by the Batman himself." Interesting.

"And lastly, we have Miss Jemima Allson. And before anyone asks, yes, Miss Allson is pregnant, and no, she will not be fighting on the frontlines. We have a nice, safe job for her, working the technology and computers of the Titan Movement." Light laughter filled the room as the young woman in question, with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, glanced around nervously.

"I think that does it with introductions. That brings us to the purpose of this . . . the Titan Movement. As you have likely heard through the news sources, the Batman has disappeared. Because of this, crime has begun to pick up once more and we have nowhere near the amount of manpower to stop it. And there's been no contact with the Batman for a while. We fear the worst has happened.

"Through funding provided by different organizations—local businesses, the federal government, et cetera—we have been able to pool our resources to create this movement. You each will be paid a hefty sum for your services, weekly—as long as you carry out your agreement and do your work. If you go AWOL, don't expect payment.

"Now, as for the enemy we will be fighting: you all have been told that this has been organized to fight the Falcone crime family and his new benefactor, Oswald Cobblepot, a former businessman turned crime boss. These organizations have almost unstoppable power. They have the latest equipment—guns, cars, you name it. We have to put a stop to them and keep them from fulfilling their plan, whatever it may be. You will be supported by the GCPD in all efforts. That's why we are spearheading this movement.

"We hope that you will all work together and get to know one another. It's possible that this will go on for months, so it's best that you all become good friends and know you can trust one another. Don't let any petty grievances come between you, or us. We're all working on the same side here: for the greater good of Gotham City. The government has a strong supply of funds so that we can do this fight the right way."

Sean piped up. "Are we gonna get some spazzy suits or something? Show we're all a team?" It was clearly meant as a joke, evidenced by the smile on Sean's face, but Gordon took it at face value.

"No, no uniforms, Mr. O'Malley. You all will be wearing your general clothes—with the proper armor, if the need shall arise. Which it probably will." Gordon then stopped and let out a deep sigh, looking to the different leaders at the table before he finally opened his mouth to speak again.

"The primary cause you have been called together is to keep Gotham safe from the crime families. But . . . there's something else you have been called together for." The gravity was beginning to weigh down. "There's a creature flying around, a mutated creature—something half-bat, half-man."

"You've gotta be kidding me," a southern-accented voice cut in. It was Clyde, the cowboy guy. "A bat creature? First we have a bat man, and now a bat thing? Sure."

"It sounds unbelievable, I know, but we have proof of it. People have been killed by something—eaten alive. And from different sources, we have found traces that draw back to bats."

"Like what?" This guy wasn't giving up.

"The fang marks. They are the same kind as a regular bat, just . . . larger. Much larger."

"Are you sure it isn't a vampire?" Clyde asked, a grin on his face. Annalise swatted him on the arm and went, "Ssh!" Clyde just grinned and shook his head.

"Like I said, I know it sounds unbelievable. But when we get closer to it, we'll put our heads together and figure it out. Until then—"

Suddenly, the door into the conference room banged open. "Commissioner!" a cop yelled, standing in the doorframe, panic in his voice. "Our stakeout at the warehouse near Ace Chemicals; it was a setup. Our guys got lit up. One of the cruisers on patrol heard machine gun fire. They need backup now."

Gordon glanced to the officer and then nodded. "All right. Roll as many units as you can."

He turned back to the table. "Well, our meeting was pretty much done anyways. Come on. Time for your first exercise."

A/N: Here we go, the beginning of the real story. A quick sidenote: I will try to shake up the central characters in each chapter so everyone gets their fair share of time in the spotlight; it'll be much easier now that everyone's been introduced, it's just a bit tough when you start out writing a chapter when no one knows each other. So, what'd you all think of the meeting? I know not too much "action" happened, but our characters all got introduced, in some capacity. I look forward to continuing on! And don't worry, the next chapter will feature action and some more relationship-building moments between our characters. Leave your thoughts in the reviews! Thank you all for reading. Until next time.