Ten-hut! [Open]

[Neo Jones]

Working in the battlefield was supposed to be an enjoyable experience! Being able to command squadrons and lead them into a glorious victory was the whole reason why he was bumped to first class Sergeant, however, nobody ever told him that he would have to do desk jobs or paper reports on mission failures and successes. Well, he had a feeling that he would have to report to his higher-ups, but he hated the fact that he was the one to go personally and tell them. No, he'd rather send them a well-worded essay on how him and his team happened to lose to a Liberal attack, who were successful in stealing parts for androids. Sure, the warehouse had outdated equipment and was condemned to be torn down, though it was protocol for all Aeon soldiers to leave the Liberation and it's followers bare without any material, useless or not. Oh, the higher-ups would have Neo's head for this!

Neo walked the long hallway, having changed out of his rig suit and into simple and casual clothing, only having his U.A.S service pistol on the holster of his belt. Walking through, he played exactly what he would say in his mind. At least there were no civilian or military casualties. Although, there were no Liberal deaths either. He thought. He grimaced and slapped his forehead into his palm.

"Damn, damn, damn." He repeated. Oh god, what would they say? What would they do? What would he as a leader be faced with? No, being a soldier (And a first-class one at that) had to take all punishments with open arms -- regardless on how painful, stressful, painful... the thought was a hazard in of itself. There, finally, Neo reached the doors of the higher-rank officer that requested him.

Neo showed the soldiers stationed in the front of the door his proper identification and allowed him to continued inside. He sighed and marched inside, hands behind his back and standing erect as he awaited his superior to enter the room. Until then, however, he clenched his teeth and stood in the standard military salute.

"First class sergeant, Neo Jones reporting for duty sir!"

[Virrus Nero]

Sitting around in the Capital city overseeing security was much more drudgery than he had originally expected. The city was full of 'model citizens' and very little liberation activity, which caused Nero to sigh, looking out over the grand Capital city through a picture window in his office. The complex he oversaw was large, and full of fresh recruits from more privileged districts, along with a few brown nosing officers and non-commissioned men relaying the orders from up the chain, bringing a whole new meaning to the phrase 'Scat rolls downhill'. The sun had begun to set over the city, giving it a picturesque orange-and-black feel one cannot fully describe; this did little to entertain Nero, who sat propping his head up with a hand, his elbow securely dug into the armrest of the chair. He decided to turn back to his desk and look over some papers, a generally unimpressed look on his face. Some documents here and there saying mostly the same thing: 'Area secure, blah, blah, blah', Nero merely skimmed through each paper with his free hand, laying it down to sign it, then tossing the papers he had finished with to the side into a slightly messy pile on his desk. Killing a few hours with drudge work, he had finished with security reports, and leaned back into his chair, taking his hand from propping his head up as it had become sore, folding them across his chest. He glanced out the picture window, the sunset had faded into night but light had far from diminished, instead things were almost as bright as day out there. Nero couldn't help but think the U.A.S. was testing his patience with this sort of assignment. He wasn't the usual desk-jockey, he had seen combat the likes of which would make most of these security boys curl up in a ball. It sickened him deep down, but he couldn't allow his superiors, or underlings to know that; his side projects were much too fun for him to allow them to be taken away by some little slip-up on his part. Nero opened the bottom-left drawer of his desk, and pulled out a clipboard with a manifest of equipment stockpiled by the U.A.S. for this particular security detachment. Most of it was spoken for by individual men, and thus could not become profit. Nero had to shake his head at this, perhaps he was spreading this whole side-project too thin. That notion was quickly shoved off by the idea that he could procure some excess equipment through other means. Nero dropped the clipboard back into the drawer and shut it tightly before standing and pushing his chair back. He straightened his khaki dress uniform and made sure the 'Colonel' patch was easily visible on his collar before exiting his office.

Heading into the hallways, the pair of guards outside his office promptly saluted him and Nero obliged them a lazy return salute before heading off down the hallway. A quick stop at the mess for a mug of coffee, and he was back on his way down the hallway, wanting to speak with sub-lieutenant about procuring more equipment, as he 'felt this unit was under-armed, and wished to keep all men, present and future, armed and equipped in case of any and all emergencies'. He smirked to himself, going over it many times to make sure there would be no suspicion, taking a long slurp of his hot coffee and feeling the need for a cigarette. He halted in the hallway for a moment, using his free hand to pull out the pack of smokes from his breast pocket. With a flick of the wrist, one cigarette poked itself out of the package and he promptly snatched it up with his lips by the end of the filter, returning the pack to his pocket and producing a lighter from his pants pocket, he lit the cigarette and continued down the hallway. Shortly thereafter, he was stopped by a junior officer, who told him he was needed to oversee a personal action report from a sergeant first class. One of the boys under him wanted a boot to the teeth, apparently, and Nero would be happy to oblige. Nero merely nodded to the junior officer, heading to his office where the Sergeant was apparently waiting for him. Nero would make this quick, in-and-out before the Lieutenant in charge of ordering more equipment had to take leave time, and he would not be able to order more gear for a month at least. With half-cigarette in mouth, and coffee in hand, he pushed back into his office, paying no mind to the guards who had saluted him a second time. He took a seat back in his chair, and scooted up to his desk, tapping ash off his smoke onto the floor and placing his coffee on his desk. Nero reclined momentarily, taking a couple deep puffs from his smoke before leaning forward, and getting a good look at the man dressed in civvies and looking like he had a pole up his butt, standing so tall. Nero smirked and leaned back as the Sergeant identified himself as "First class Sergeant Neo Jones".

Nero's smirk turned to a smile, he rested his forearms on his desk and inter-linked his fingers, nodding and speaking with smoke-in-mouth. "At ease, boy." He said, simply, but gruffly, allowing the Sergeant to be at ease when giving Nero the good, or bad news. Taking another puff of the cigarette, now a quarter remaining, he spoke with plumes of smoke leaving his mouth "What've ya got for me, Sergeant?". Nero raised an eyebrow, and removed the smoke from his mouth, exhaling the what remained of the smoke in his lungs from his nose, and grasping his mug of coffee, taking a long slurp before replacing the mug where it was, and the cigarette between his lips.

[Neo Jones]

Taking a look at his superior officer and how intimidating he looked without even trying made Neo's stomach churn. He'd seen tougher and scarier enemies on the battlefield, yes, but they seemed all the less threatening when he was allowed the "Shoot to kill" order. However, the game changed drastically when someone with equal 'looks' dished out those orders and also decided your fate. Neo's head was on the chopping block now. He didn't want it to be - he wanted to keep it far away from it, however, being a sergeant enforced him to carry out this report face-to-face. His heart thumped, feeling as though it would pop out of his chest. He kept his stance, military salute and all, staring at the man who would either make-or break - his military career.

"At ease, boy" he ordered. Neo relaxed a bit and exhaled softly, bringing his hand down from his forehead, though still standing with a pencil-like stance. Taking a look at his commanding officer, he was able to find his name crest on his uniform. Of course, Neo knew his place and wouldn't call him out on his name without accompanying it with his title or after "sir", though it was a hell of a lot easier to know something about the guy. It had seemed as though the officer had broke into a smile, albeit having smoke still in his mouth.

Great, the guy's a smoker. Neo thought. The question was given and Neo was expected to give the report of the previous encounter. Oh, he could feel his body starting to sweat again. He sighed and mustered up the confidence needed to give the initial report. This would be no easy feat.

"At exactly 1900 hours, in some dilapidated warehouses that were not yet demolished near some project houses, a small group of Liberation troops made their way in. Unbeknownst to my branch of Aeon squadron, the warehouse actually contained outdated and abused weapon parts and believably some failed android technology mechanics. A concerned neighbor called the local authorities in which, the chief was completely ignorant of the issue of androids, thus, called the national guard. I myself volunteered to scout the area since my division was closer."

Neo had to take a breath and keep his eyes from wandering from the officer. He had strayed away from the topic at hand, giving needless or already known information to soften the officer up. No doubt, he would have to jump straight to the point before he was verbally assaulted to get there, so he hurried his report.

"A group consisting of me and a couple of men checked the area, only to find that they had stayed but escaped when we had made our way inside. When written, I was told as head of the operation, to speak this over with a commanding officer and, well, here we are sir." Neo finished. He gulped and waited for his officer's lashing. After all, what else could a soldier do besides wait for a word?

[Virrus Nero]

Nero cocked his head to the side slightly, leaning back in his chair and resting his interwoven hands on his lap. His eyes locked with the Sergeant's, and his smirk had faded as soon as Jones began issuing his report. Nero's smoke hung from the corner of his mouth, nearly burnt away save for a last couple of puffs. This information took some precedence, and he knew he was going to have to copy down some of the information the Sergeant gave him; if it wasn't interesting, it was bound to cause Nero some grave discomfort in writing and submitting it. He let the Sergeant get well into the report before leaning forward and opening a top drawer of his desk, removing a pencil and a blank template sheet for reports, though this particular sheet had a yellow back to allow a carbon copy. Head still cocked to the side, Nero broke eyes with Jones and stared intently at the paper, writing down the events that were described, transcribing them through his mind to paper. 1900 hours... Dilapidated warehouse... Near projects... Liberation... Secured assets... No response from policing units... National guard unit deployed... Investigation revealed Liberation presence... Liberation retreated. Nero halted the transcription, and read it back to himself quickly, while the Sergeant was still yammering about needless details. 'Secured assets' was pounding away at his brain. He waited until the Sergeant was completely quiet before asking "Liberation forces retreated... Were they in such a rush that they left behind Anything? Anything at all?".

Nero didn't even look up from the paper he was writing on, his tone was harsh, but not as harsh is he quite well could have been. He was fixed on the idea that he was going to get himself some more merchandise, so fixated that he forgot to be hostile with the Sergeant over the lack of a casualty report alongside the issued statement of events. Nero would get to that later, but now he needed to know whether or not he could send the boy back to take what the Liberation had left behind. A plan formed in his head to use this young man and the men as his disposal as pawns. Nero's eyes looked up from the paper back to the Sergeant's, his head still facing the paper, cigarette burning away, until Nero took a puff. He tasted filter, and the burning sensation of acetate smoke down his throat made his CAEs cycle slightly higher, he kept composure for the time being. Lifting a single hand, with eyes still mad-dogging the Sergeant for his reply, Nero took the half-burnt butt and put it out on the desk's surface, pushing with alot of force, leaving the butt badly bent with a small circle of ash.

[Neo Jones]

It had now sunken into Neo; a person didn't care about a situation unless it happened to them. Neo had seen soldiers get reprimanded for their mistakes and mishaps, he had sent them to superiors knowing the punishment that lied wait, he also carried out and dished punishments, showing little mercy. It was a sad and stressful part of being a soldier, though it was one that had to be done. There was no time for relenting when a terrorist force known as the Liberation had made their threat towards Aeon. He hated that he failed a simple mission, that he more than likely brought shame to his father's position and name. Neo stood erect and sought out the strength and courage that was necessary for Aeon troops to carry -- the first test for this was to look his superior dead in the eye, ready and willing for Nero's words. When a question was blurted, Neo began to answer to the best of his ability.

"My squadron and I didn't stay long, we went in and tried to pursue any fleeing Liberation members. We were unsuccessful in that area, however, I cannot possibly say whether or not anything was left at the warehouses," He started. Neo stroked his buzzcut and sighed. "But, as my duty as first class sergeant Neo Jones, I shall redeem mine and my group's mistake. Say the word sir, and we shall secure any attachments, weapons, ammo, the like and hopefully, detain any Liberation members."

Neo placed his hands behind his back and swayed. Did he really volunteer to go back out there and look for outdated equipment? The way Neo saw it, the damn things were basically useless; however, the army's focus was to technologically starve the Liberation front by leaving them bare, restricting them from any form of military technology, and acquiring and analyzing theirs. Neo couldn't grasp exactly what could be done with equipment that were entitled defective, although Neo was more of a soldier who would discard complex technology and run through with the weapons and strategy he was 'blessed' with.

"Although sir, if you don't mind my asking, of what importance could old items be to the Liberation? Better yet, what harm could come to us? This isn't a matter in which we can sweep under the rug and pretend like it never existed?"

[Virrus Nero]

With now hardened eyebrows, his mad-dog gaze at the Sergeant remained unbroken. Nero's Chemical Aggression Enhancers cycled at a steadily increasing rate with his heartbeat. His breathing became heavier, as he sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils, he listened intently at the Sergeant's continued description of the events that unfolded at the warehouse. Writing what Sergeant Jones had experienced on the paper without looking, causing his penmanship to lapse greatly. Pursuit was given to Liberation Forces retreating... Unsuccessful in causing casualties... Unknown quantities of equipment remain- Nero stopped writing and broke his gaze momentarily as the Sergeant paused his speech, looking down at the paper. He heard an audible sigh from the Sergeant, this annoyed Nero, as he felt this was a sign the Sergeant felt Nero was wasting his time. Nero grimaced at the idea that Sergeant's time was more valuable than his, though he continued to look over the paper, and what he had written. It checked out, and he would later report there was nothing found, even if the Sergeant actually found anything of use to sell to the Liberation. Glancing back up from his report, the Sergeant began to express loyalty, causing Nero's grimace to turn to a smirk quickly. Though when Sergeant finished talking about how he would be at Nero's disposal to redeem himself and go back to the warehouse, Nero had a slightly aggression clouded idea. He would do just that, send the good Sergeant back to the warehouse, and pick up where he failed. Nero had a strong distaste for failure, after all. Nero finished scribbling on the paper a few more details the Sergeant hadn't described, doctoring it up to look like the Sergeant had done more than he had explained. -Remaining equipment was destroyed in controlled detonation... Nothing left for Liberation. Nero felt was more than enough to convince anyone overseeing this report that the Sergeant was doing a good job; even though the Sergeant had continued to annoy Colonel Nero by prying into whether or not the equipment was of importance, in effect continuing to insinuate that Nero was wasting the Sergeant's precious time. Of course the equipment was of importance to the Liberation, why would they be there in the first place trying to capture it? It wasn't a question of whether or not harm could come to them specifically, but whether the Liberation was procuring equipment free of charge. Nero put the pencil down, pushing the paper with the report written on it toward Sergeant Jones, giving it a half turn so the Sergeant could take a look at the paper and then picked up his coffee mug, taking a long swig of the hot coffee before replacing it on his desk and clearing his throat.

"Well, going back to that warehouse, thats exactly what I want you to do, Sergeant. Failure to inflict casualties on the enemy after engagin', as well as lapsin' in the capture or destruction of their secured equipment is punishable by demotion. You understand me? I could have you pushed down to things far worse than being a Private, boy."

Nero's smirk turned into a twisted smile as he leaned back into his chair and raised his bearded chin, looking the Sergeant up and down.

"But thats not something thats going to happen, First Class Sergeant... Y'see if you value that rank of yours, you'll see to it that you and your men secure that warehouse and deny the enemy any equipment, regardless of whether or not it is of importance to the Liberation as far as we know. I want you to capture that equipment and bring it to one of our controlled warehouses, where I will inspect what you've procured personally once this is all said and done."

Nero finished, reaching into the breast pocket of his Khaki dress uniform, and producing his package of cigarettes again, digging into it for a fresh smoke, he pulled one out and held it to his lips with his index and middle fingers. He closed his eyes momentarily as he pulled out his lighter, flicking it open and lighting his cigarette. Opening his eyes to look at the Sergeant again, Nero took a deep puff from the cigarette before placing his lighter on the desk and replacing his pack of smokes into his breast pocket.

"You're dismissed..."

[Neo Jones]

If his buzzcut didn't knock him into the military reality; his title as first class sergeant should've. If his control over lower ranked soldiers didn't knock him into the ongoing war of Aeon and Liberation troops; the gun on his belt should've. If his super-soldier training didn't awaken to him that he was following the footsteps in his illustrious father; then his commanding officer, Nero's harsh words and orders did. Neo's eyebrows were set, completing a frowning remark. Not because he was angry or showed animosity towards his superior (he should've, although Neo knew the feeling of dishing orders and not losing sleep for it), but for himself for failing such an easy mission. What kind of sergeant was he exactly? So he was a leader who lead his men through the marsh and straight on to battle -- that didn't make him the perfect soldier. He had been accepted for a serum that enhanced soldier's abilities, now he felt like he didn't deserve it. For the first time in his military career, he suddenly felt shame in himself and could feel burning eyes from his father for that failure.

What kind of soldier was he? He'd be a soldier that would get it right this time around, not leaving any mission objective behind, undone, or unbroken. Neo wanted to be the perfect Aeon soldier, all the while staying true to himself (as he tried to stay away from the complete soulless troops that saluted superiors) and honoring his father. All that would be in time though, as now, he had to worry about the present problems at hand. The mission this time around was simple and clean -- the Liberation had Aeon weapons and weapons of their own. Neo had to go get them, or at least, one. Failure to comply would result in a demotion of a rank and that would be the least of his worries. Neo gulped and nodded. He had a job to do.

He bowed. "Thank you sir, I assure you, my men and I shall quickly clean up our mistakes and make you -- the president -- and the nation of Aeon proud. I swear it, by my last name of Jones," He started, bringing his hand up to his forehead in a fashioned standard military salute.

"And my title as First Class Sergeant!" With that, Neo brought his hand down, bowed, and turned on his heel after being dismissed. What a striking conversation that had been, his superior officer giving him an assignment which should have been completed way before when. Neo gripped his hand into a tight fist, knowing that his next mission would place him in the heart of the Aeon/Liberation battle: The Fringes. A slum filled with dilapidated houses and the unfinished work of the great nation of Aeon. The place where the warehouse had been ransacked and now the returning Charlie point for the Sergeant in the first class. This wasn't going to be easy, though nobody ever mentioned an Aeon soldier's life being filled with luxury and days off.

Upon exiting Nero's office, Neo stopped in the hallway and let out a huge sigh of exhaustion. Knees felt like they would collapse from the pressure, he felt like he would throw up from the stilled atmosphere between the two military officials, anger and determination stirred in the young man's body. He was now thrown into the fireplace with the crackling sparks of Liberation supporters and troops and only him and a small platoon of men and women would stand on the front lines to retrieve what was rightfully theirs. It was all so exciting and exhilarating, though at the same time happened so fast that Neo had to remind himself of the consequences for failure to realize that what he heard was real. All that was real; the situation itself was surreal. Equipment sought out to be small potatoes to an advancing nation such as Aeon had now gained a huge importance in Neo's career -- this mission would be the one that could certainly make a difference in his time in the military. There was no time to waste then! He reached inside of his shirt pocket and pulled his cell-phone, quickly summoning a number and began to dish out orders with a fierce and confident monotone that lingered in his voice.

"General Tisdale, First Class Sergeant: Neo Jones. Rally team 'Echo' and make sure to equip them with their rig suits and fully loaded weapons. I want a small truck as I have a mission for my squadron.... no, this is a mission that must be completed with team Echo, back-up should be on standby at best, though not at the actual scene. Yes, I'll be around shortly. Thank you -- Jones, out."

Neo walked along the halls, feeling ecstatic and fearful at the same time. He simply loved the battlefield; though going into terrain where the enemy was heavily praised more than the government officials (and this being Neo's second time going, aside from the short hours there before) was a different type of hell in of itself. Nero had offered him redemption; who was he to turn it away? Being the candidate for the perfect soldier, Neo jumped on the objective and would work to assure it's completion. As he entered his quarter, instead of resting or sitting down on the bed adjacent to the wall, he went straight for his mini-armory closet in which he kept his battle-suit and weapons. He trudged the rig suit from it's protective box, staring at it with a gleam in his eye. He began to strip, getting to the undergarment before placing on his suit. Sliding it on his skin, it became more of a second skin to him and a vital tool in his military service. The suit activated, flashing green underglow lining along the limbs connecting from the chest area, tightening on his muscles and enhancing their flexibility and strength, keeping track of his heart pulse and blood pressure, letting Neo know that he was fully protected and equipped.

"But thats not something thats going to happen, First Class Sergeant... Y'see if you value that rank of yours, you'll see to it that you and your men secure that warehouse and deny the enemy any equipment, regardless of whether or not it is of importance to the Liberation as far as we know." Nero had ordered. Refilling the clips in his U.A.S rifle and his U.A.S pistol, he remembered those words harshly and replayed the scene in his mind vividly. Neo took a long look at himself on the door-mirror and twitched his fingers on his standard rifle.

"Hoorah! Ten-hut, First Class Sergeant Neo Jones reporting for duty!" He shouted. Neo took prideful steps through the hallways and entering to meet his men, on their way to a Liberation-supported ghetto: The Fringes.

[End of Ten-Hut. Exit ]