Welcome to Gaia! ::

An outdated black Cadillac with blacked out windows rolled up to the gates of the military base, above which fluttered an American flag, moving lightly in the cold morning breeze. The car appeared to be the best that 1986 had to offer, and was in pristine condition. A thick fog of exhaust surrounded it as it came to a stop near the guardhouse. A camera moved on top of the gate, scanning the exempt license plates. With out a word, the guards let the vehicle through.
It pulled up to the front of the building, sitting quietly as white fumes continued to pour from the exhaust pipe. The doors opened, and out stepped two men. Mr. Grey walked away from the car, adjusting his collar and sunglasses, despite the cloud cover. He turned back to the car as his companion walked toward him.
“Are you ready, Mr. Cold?”
Mr. Cold looked to Mr. Grey, staring out from behind a pair of large, goggle-like circular sunglasses.
“Only if you are, Mr. Grey.”
With this the two walked up to the doors of one of the smaller buildings of the compound, Mr. Grey leading the way. Cold followed, walking in his awkward sort of waddle. Upon entering they were greeted by and empty room, with speckled tile floors and flickering fluorescent lights. There were three doors, two of which were locked, so they entered the third. This time, a scrawny man in coke-bottle glasses looked up from a temporary writing desk.
“Oh, can I help you?”
Grey took out a slip of paper from his inner coat pocket.
“We are expected by one Colonel Mayer.”
The man looked at the piece of paper, then at the two men, his gaze lingering just a second too long on Mr. Cold. Not that anyone could blame him, Indrid Cold was quite a sight. He hovered above most men at 6'10”, with a strangely proportioned frame. He wore an off looking suit, perhaps it was too big, or tailored badly, but it appeared simply thrown onto him. His starched white shirt stood in high contrast to the frumpy looking suit, and it was accompanied by a tie of such a dark green it appeared black, just like the suit. Apart from his clothing, though, Indrid Cold's most unsettling features were on his face. His skin was a dark tan, but with a waxy-like complexion, and one might even think he wore makeup from the look of it. Above all, though, was his smile. He constantly wore a big grin. Not just a friendly smirk, but a full fledged white-toothed smile that never seemed to reach the rest of his face.
The man soon realized he was staring and fumbled the piece of paper.
“Um, yes yes. If you'll follow me.”
He proceeded to get up and lead them down the corridors, apparently down into the basement. After a minute or two of walking in silence he spoke up.
“Sorry about the lobby. The light's are on the fritz so they moved us to that other room. Damned cold in there too.”
His eyes shifted, thinking he perhaps should just stay quiet. Soon they were walking through the cold concrete halls of the basement, lit only by an industrial looking cage protected bulb every fifteen feet or so. They came to a dark wooden door at the very end of the hallway. Chipped old letters on the wired glass window read “R G RAR”. The secretary man opened the door, and quietly scuttled away back upstairs. Mr. Grey peered into the room. It was a small, musty space, smelling of old carpet and paper. The latter of which was fitting considering the entire room was filled to the point of almost being un- maneuverable with metal file cabinets and labeled cardboard boxes. In the middle of the room, under a single hanging lightbulb, a man sat a a small writing dest. He was african-american, and rather large of build. Grey found himself wondering how the man was even able to move around as he squeezed sideways through two cabinets to get to the man, who hadn't even looked up from his filing. He waited what seemed like a full minute before speaking up, but as he did, the man motioned to the left side of the room.
“Over there. Elevator code is 797.”
Grey looked to the wall confusedly. It was completely blocked by filing cabinets. With a sigh, he walked over anyways, and Indrid followed, much to his discomfort. The space was cramped enough without the strange man breathing down his neck.
Grey took out a small flashlight, looking behind the cabinets. Sure enough, an old door was hidden behind one. With some difficult shifting of the apparently full drawers, the door was revealed and could be opened just enough for a man to fit into. The two slipped into the even smaller space, where Grey searched about with his flashligh. Soon he found something; an electronic number pad on the wall opposite the door. It was dusty, like the rest of the room, but a tap on one of the buttons showed it still worked. He typed in the numbers 797, and immediately, the door closed behind them and gears within the walls began to turn with a rusty sounding squeal. He felt they were moving down, and funding the door receding up into the ceiling told him he was right. He only hoped that the ride would be over soon. He didn't enjoy the clammy feeling of being so close to Indrid Cold.

The grinding sounds of long rusted gears accompanied the pair the duration of the elevator ride, which to Grey seemed to take an hour. In reality it was still a good fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of uncomfortable shifting on Grey's part.
At the bottom of the shaft, the elevator came to an abrupt stop, the doors slowly sliding open to a scene much different from the one upstairs. A surprising amount of activity was taking place. Men walking about the relatively cramped spaces and monitoring systems carrying data and printed readouts. There was noise everywhere, from machines beeping and whooping to people arguing. Among the fray a voice piped in over some sort of intercom. It was all very hectic. Another contrast was how hot it was. So many forms moving about in such restricted space made for a stuffy environment. Grey and Cold stepped in, the elevator doors closing behind them. The people bustling back and forth didn't even seem to pay them any notice, until a man stepped forth, nearly colliding with another carrying a stack of papers and manilla folders.
“Are you from the agency?” he said in a gruff tone.
Grey looked to Cold, who was staring straight ahead, before replying.
“I am Mr. Grey. This is Mr. Cold. We were sent for my one by the name of Colonel Mayer.”
The man nodded and motioned for them to follow as he turned to walk away.
“Sure you are. I'm Colonel Mayer. You can just call me Colonel. Follow me.”
Grey followed without a word, and Indrid did as well, and though his hat brushed the ceiling, he made no attempt to duck or make himself smaller, even seeming baffled when the Colonel lead them through a series of doorways, which even Grey found to be small.
Soon they came to a metal door with a large hatch on it, which the Colonel opened up, leading the group inside. It was nicely cool, and much roomier than the outside. A series of metal folding chairs surrounded an old ping pong table turned into what appeared to be a battle planning map.
“I knew the funding to your division had been cut but I didn't know the meager extent of it, Colonel.”
Mayer scowled at him as he latched the door shut.
“I don't need any snarky remarks from you spooks. I don't know what magical world you get your funding from, but here in America were in a tight spot, I don't know if you realized. And China's more ready than ever on top of everything else to shake us down for six trillion in lunch money.”
Mr. Grey stood with his back to the door, in an at ease position.
“Forgive me Colonel, I meant not to offend.”
The older man waved his hand.
“If you want to know the truth, we were just recently moved in here after losing the D.C. office. That's to say we don't technically exist anymore. Not that the government tried to hide us moving in to hard. It's difficult to hide a convoy of unmarked deuce and a halves rolling into small town America. All I know is that if some conspiracy nut comes on and starts shooting off red flags, nobody up top is gonna give us the time of day to cover our asses. Were barely hanging on as it is.” he gave a heavy sigh as he felt himself beginning to go on a tirade.
“Anyways, that's not why you were sent here. I know you’re usually debriefed by The Agency, but manpower is tight and we've got no other options at this point but to turn to you. We can only go so far to explain whats been going on over in the east.”
Mr. Grey cocked his head quizzically.
“You're referencing the stir of activity.”
Mayer nodded his head.
“Damn straight, and were working 24/7 to make sure it's covered, but apparently you shade wearing son's o bitches are too busy starching your collars to lend a hand. Until they sent you that is.”
He walked to the other side of the table, where sat a rather large bundle and a stack of papers.
“Apparently there's something big going on over there. I'm surprised you haven't heard about it yet but it just came in this morning. Apparently we've had a crash. Some guerillas are taking interest, so it's best to discourage their involvment. You'll be given more information in the package we've prepared for you.”
Mr. Grey couldn't help but feel his heart jump into his throat. He didn't say anything in fear of breaking his composure. The few “crashes” that really ever happened were given to top agents. Maybe this was The Agency testing him, perhaps even for something greater.
“Don't get too worked up now.” said the Colonel, remarking on Grey's lack of a reply. He rested his hand on the package.
“We've encoded the coordinates into your new gear. Get suited up, you'll leave on the departing flight to Pyongyang at 0900 hours.”
With this, he exited the room, leaving the two alone.
“Are you ready, Mr. Grey?” asked Indrid as silence fell on the room, while Grey looked over the contents of the package. He looked up only momentarily.
“Of course I am.”
Indrid's only reply came in the form of an unsettling wide grin...

Anders stopped when Yurem spoke to him and turned to him, leaning against the doorway just behind the blind officer. "I wouldn't know. I'm only concerned with getting back to Korea to put some more terrorists in their place. In hell! Haha!", he said rather cheerily, not dwelling on the thought of the bombing. "I don't know about you, but I'm getting on the first plane they got ready! My leg's all healed up, hwy am I still here?"


Tam Farrel chuckled uncomfortably to all this. "Should I leave? You guys seem aweful busy..."