It was a rather cramped room to be having a briefing in. Less of an office, and more of a glorified janitor's closet. All six who were present in their cheap folding chairs were tense, having been woken at four.
"Morning, friends! Ready for your assignment?"
A plain-looking fella wearing mirrored spectacles and holding a clipboard entered the room, which for most part regarded him as you might a shark entering a day-care. Two more seasoned-looking applicants were seated together, whispering something to one another. A particularly wide-eyed grunt meekly waved hello to the new arrival.
"Oh, chin up. It's not going to be so bad, honest. You had plenty of time to sign up for alternative duties, you know. Now, let us see here…."
The bespectacled fellow took place at a stack of wooden crates, one of which still had the logo of a Nevadan cleaning supply company plainly visible. He shuffled some papers about before scraping his throat and beginning his nasal-voiced spiel.
"Now, the assignment should be quite easy if everyone gives their all! An independent scientist and his pals have been cooking something up in a crummy motel in Sector 17. Two floors, large parking lot, bad coffee. They're worried a larger group might show up to take what they've made, as one of these eggheads decided he wasn't getting paid enough and ratted them out."
A scoff from the back of the room.
"Serves 'em right! Scientists. Pfeh." One of the veterans whispered to his buddy, loud enough for all to hear.
The Supervisor frowned as he continued, slight irritation in his voice.
"This project concerns higher yields for wheat. You know what that goes into? Hotdog buns."
Fire was rising in his voice. "These men are putting everything on the line for our culinary enjoyment, but this broken and cruel world might try to kill them for it. It is up to you to save them from this fate."
With a flourish, he turned over a new leaf on his clipboard, before pointing towards the back row.
"These are conscripts Donovan and Statham, who will be treated as officers for this assignment. I have taken the liberty of ensuring the recent wave of recruits would be included, so you can teach the rookies how it's done. Successful completion would result in a promotion to officer status for these gentlemen, and valuable life experience for the rest of you lot. Do not disappoint."
The rest of the meeting consisted of further details on the roles assigned, and how they were to function during the operation, which had been christened "Self-Improvement Exercise SEC-17-01" in thick black marker on a whiteboard.
Conscripts Donovan and Statham were assigned to guide volunteers Jeff, Quinn, Chester and Clint into a basic scout-and-sweep of the motel's surroundings upon arrival, followed by keeping guard over the project's researchers as they held a virtual auction from the safety of their fortified and affordable battlestation. Sector 17 wasn't the worst sector to be stuck in, being a seemingly endless stretch of sleepy desert towns, but the feisty nature of local outcasts, wildmen and other unsavouries meant banditry was a common nuisance. To make matters worse, most of the locals did not shower.
"Any questions? No? Great!" The Supervisor took his clipboard and casually strolled out of the room, ignoring several raised hands.
Travel was arranged in the form of a lightly plated and unsuspicious grey van, lovingly decorated with an exaggerated angry face painted in black on the side.
The Gecko company had several subdivisions responsible for Protection, Assault, Intelligence, Supply and Training Solutions, which translated to warm bodies doing the jobs no other chartered agency would touch or solving minor community disputes. This particular contract was an ambitious undertaking, as it involved each of the company's disciplines.