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A/)- The Inner Phalanx · (This post was last modified: 06-20-2016, 04:30 AM by A/)- The Inner Phalanx.)

At the beginning of the day on June Seventeenth, Michael Glass stood from the console within the growth chamber of the Project. Looking around him, various pieces of equipment and armor lay waiting to be claimed. He grabbed his cane and paced through the tanks. He contemplated for a time about his plan of action. Finally, stopping outside Oh-Six, he made up his mind. He stared at the man suspended in liquid within the glass tank, carefully stroking his chin. He grunted slightly, and turned to walk back to the console. He stepped around and set his cane aside, sitting down in the usual high-backed chair. He spun to face the controls and began to type away. The machinery whizzed to life, and began to work. Michael stood, grabbed a towel and walked back to Oh-Six, as the tank began to drain. The man inside twitched to life. Like his sister before him, the tube opened and he collapsed to the floor, coughing up the familiar blue-tinted liquid. He gasped for air and stood. Michael held the towel out. "Cover yourself." He said. Oh-Six nodded and concealed himself, drying off slightly.

"Chief Medical Officer Glass." Said Oh-Six. "Why was I awoken?" He asked. Michael remained silent and gestured for the man to follow him. The two walked back to the console. Michael pointed to the pile of undergarments. The tank-bred man finished drying himself off, and dug for a pair of boxers. Oh-Six quickly tugged on a pair and walked over to Michael. "Sir?" He asked. Michael held up a finger, examining the console. "I've decided to run a test. How do you feel?" Asked Glass. Oh-Six shrugged. "Nominal, sir. No signs of damage or fault." Replied the tank-bred man. Glass nodded and pointed to the pile of equipment. "Suit up." He stated. Oh-Six nodded. "Yes, sir." Oh-Six began to dig through the crates and piles of armor. He found an under-suit and pulled it on, dawning a set of beige armor. "Ready." Said Oh-Six, as he placed on his helmet. "Welcome to the beginning of the future, Six. Your name is now Marshal. Let's see what you can do, hm?" Said Michael. He gestured for Marshal to follow him. The two hurried from the project chamber and made a left turn down the hall, quickly passing through the security checkpoints.

"Where are we going?" Asked Marshal, slowing his pace to keep by Glass. "Training room. You're going to run a simulation without an exam." Responded Glass, marching down the hall with his cast and cane. Eventually, they entered an open spaced room with large projectors lining the walls. "Level one, basic test." Stated Glass, stepping into an observation booth. Marshal stepped forward towards a table on the left side of the room, where a Type-40 Particle Accelerator Rifle was waiting. He picked it up and loaded the holographic rounds, strapping additional mags to his belt. He briefly aimed down the Three-by-four sight and fiddled with the mechanism. He stepped forward to the center of the room as the entrance sealed off. The projectors began to light up, generating solid light objects in the room. The scenery slowly began to resemble a desert, with arid plains stretching for miles. Where Marshal stood was a downed Manta, with parts lined around in a sort of makeshift cover zone spanning three-hundred and sixty degrees around the crash site. The area began to fill with cover, as a sandstorm was blowing in. Marshal hunkered down near the top fin of the Manta and aimed his rifle over.

As the simulation started, the sandstorm obstructed all natural view. Marshal kept his eye aimed on his sight. "Watch the motion tracker. Steady on friendly contacts, fire on unknown." He thought to himself. The simulator room spoke. <:: SIMULATION - NAURU - SURVIVAL. ::> As it finished, Marshal's radar lit up two objects moving around him. One to his left, and one to his rear. In a matter of seconds, Marshal pivoted on the spot and brought his rifle up. He fired two short bursts at the left-most contact. A small holographic flash lit up, signaling an enemy being dispatched. Marshal rolled to the rear cover, by the downed Manta's engine remains, as hostile rounds flew over his head. "Can't go over... Might as well go under." Marshal dropped down to his stomach and peeked the barrel of his rifle through the cracks in the engine manifold. He fired two additional bursts. <:: ROUND ONE - COMPLETE. COMMENCING - ROUND TWO. ::> As it finished speaking, a single rifle shot was heard in the distance. Marshal ducked down as it landed near the engine manifold, close to the barrel of his rifle. He rolled to the wing, keeping himself prone. A second rifle shot. The round flew over the wing. Marshal stopped briefly to think. A third rifle shot, hitting the wing, just near his head. "Thermal imaging."

Marshal rolled to the canopy on his left, where the cover was solid enough that the sniper couldn't hit him, but that didn't negate the fact that he was being tracked. Marshal drew a grenade from his belt and flung it over the canopy in the direction the rifle was firing from. As the beeping explosive flew through the air, Marshal counted down. A single rifle shot was heard, followed by an explosion. Marshal quickly peeked out from behind the canopy and fired his rifle, fully automatic, in the direction of the tracer. A brief flash was seen, signifying the death of an enemy. As time went on, and the simulation progressed, Marshal continued to use inventive means of surviving the onslaught of hostiles. Nearly three hours in, the simulator spoke. <:: ROUND SIXTY-TWO - COMPLETE. SIMULATION HALTED. ::> The scenery began to fade back into the barren room. Marshal stood as the makeshift cover faded from existence around him. The entrance unsealed, and Michael walked out of the observation booth. "Excellent work. You've certainly exceeded combat expectations in a rather... Innovative way." Said Glass. Marshal nodded. "Is that all, sir?" He asked. "For now, yes. Take the time to adapt to your surroundings, and remember your name. Your real identity is to be kept a secret. We will continue for the next few days." Responded Glass, who turned to leave. The two went their separate ways, as Marshal moved to join the others in the fleet.

Two days later, Michael and Marshal were waiting in the Thalatte chamber. The two were going over some notes at the console together, when the large metal doors slid open. The Curator, in full gear as usual, walked into the chamber. Marshal stood at attention at first glance. "Sir. Oh-Six Marshal. It's an honor, Curator." He said, saluting to the Curator. "At ease, Marshal." Said Glass. Marshal remained at attention, but lowered his hand. Glass furrowed his brow. "You heard him, Six." Stated the Curator. Marshal sighed and stood at ease, carefully watching as his father approached. "He's early." Said the Curator, staring at the soldier before him. He turned his head to Glass. "I decided now is as good of a time as any." Replied Michael. He looked between the two as they examined one another. "Details." Stated the Curator. "Oh-Six, or Marshal as I've called him, shows a natural talent for leadership, innovative and improvised warfare. He's excelled in the level one Nauru survival sim, and has been improving ever since. I believe we have our squad leader." Responded Glass, gesturing towards Marshal.

"I see. He certainly seems to respect the chain of command. Perhaps a little too much." The Curator approaches Marshal, carefully examining him from head to toe. "Would you ever question an order?" He asked. "No, sir." Responded Marshal, keeping his eyes forward. "Loyalty is good, but blind loyalty will get you killed. You need to trust yourself and know when to do what's right for your siblings in the field. Think you can do that?" Asked the Curator, pacing around him. "Yes, sir. Sir, I believe that any order should be followed, right or wrong, so long as it serves Auxesia. However, whatever answer I give will also be wrong, but mistakes are what allow us to learn and better ourselves, and while orders might not always cater to the scenario, situational awareness is key to the survival and management of your comrades, sir." Stated Marshal, still retaining his posture. The Curator sharked around him for a few moments, remaining silent. "Not intimidated. Good. Smart, too. You'll do fine." The Curator pats Marshal on the shoulder. "What of the others?" He asked. Michael cracked a small grin. "You'll see soon enough." He began to type away, starting the process for the machinery once again.

One by one, the tubes began to drain. Each individual, both man and woman, dropped out and coughed up some liquid. They stood and looked around. "Attention!" Shouted the Curator from the console. The remaining eight lined up, nude from head to toe, un-phased. They kept their eyes front as the Curator walked between them. "Congratulations. You've all been given life this day. While earlier than decided upon, you are all complete. As you know, I am Curator Endurance, and you are on board the Eidolon Wraith. As you also know, I am your biological father. However, do not let that thought taint your views and ideals. You have a duty to uphold and work to do. You were created, each and every one of you, to be perfect. To fit the roles that others specialize in only one of. You specialize in all, but remember that you are a team. You are all the soldiers that we need. Each of you," He stopped in front of a rather small woman. "Are unique. You are a squadron. Brothers and sisters in arms." He continued on his path, turning back to the console. "Your squad leader, Oh-Six, or Marshal as he is known, is awaiting you at the front. He is your brother. Older by two days. Your eldest is currently injured, and your mother is away. You are not invincible, so do not act like it. Report to the console for clothing and equipment." Finished the Curator. The eight saluted and walked to the console, grabbing towels to dry themselves.

Like the others, they dug through the pile of undergarments for appropriate sizes to conceal their nudity - The females finding bras and undergarments, while the males found boxer shorts. They lined up, front to back, and stood at ease. Michael Glass grabbed his cane and stood, slowly walking to the line. He began to inspect them, starting with Oh-One, a man. He carefully examined him, feeling for any issues. He moved on to the next subject - A woman, Oh-Three. Much like before, he examined and felt for differences. He did the same with the remaining six subjects. Finally finished, he turned back to the console. "Before you is the most advanced and unique equipment available. Each suit is designed specifically for you, with potential for modifications. Yes, you were measured. I've watched you all grow from an embryo to what you are now." Said Michael, gesturing to the equipment. "Suit up." He said. The tank-breeds lined up, one by one locating their equipment and slipping into it. Finished, they gathered around Marshal. "For the next few hours, we'll discover what you're capable of." Said Michael.

As he said, the training rooms were occupied as the Thalatte kids began to find their skills and work as a team, surpassing the hardest difficulty of the first simulator. One by one, they developed an identity, and began to modify their armor and decide their roles within their newly formed squadron - Davara. As the day progressed, and the nine learnt to trust eachother. Nearing the end of the day, Davara squad was dispatched on their first mission to recover two Auxesians from Cambridge. Before, however, the Curator approached Michael in private. "We're halting this for now. We've other things to focus on. Namely, resource control. I know you won't like it, but there will come a time where we can continue. You've done magnificent work, Glass." He said. The Curator turned to walk out, returning to the medical bay.

Project log: 004 Doctor Michael Glass

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