Briefing

You arrive in the briefing room, it is 3 hours past midnight and you were just informed of this supposedly vital assignment.
The briefing room is a 20x20 square with sound-proof padding and a circular table in the middle. The chairs are still ice cold, a curiosity as the rest of the room is always hotter than a desert. The table surface is always somehow irritating to the touch. The whine of the climate control is just loud enough to give you a headache, which is only exacerbated by the bright white of everything in the room. As always, the room smells like a thick layer of dust, despite the impeccable cleanliness. Your employers have gone through a lot of trouble to make you as uncomfortable as possible, but at least they provided bagels and coffee today.

Introduce your characters, intermingle, etc.

Former SFC Marc Kendall groggily entered the briefing room. He saw the coffee and went straight for it, unawares of what else or who else was in the room. After he filled the cup he went and pulled out a chair. He flopped into the chair like a laundry-duffel, causing the set of dog tags around his neck to rattle. The coffee was scalding as he never put any sugar or cream in it. Marc was wearing an light grey 'wife beater' style t-shirt; black combat boots; and a set of urban-camo fatigue pants with the cargo pockets unbuttoned. He looked around the room but it was quite evident he was momentarily alone. Marc took a sip of his coffee to get the sleep out from the system and waited.

As Frank Nylie entered the room his eyes screamed in revolt. The incredible whiteness of the room made his pupils suddenly and painfully contract. Squinting, he made his way around the circular table, eyed G.I. Joe when he was sure no one was looking, and seated himself facing the door he entered from. Folding his arms across the table, he let out a sigh and laid his head down, waiting for something to happen.

"...vital mission...SHX corp standard procedure...compensation...," The young woman mutters under her breath. She's still scanning the summons on her maintenance clipboard as she saunters into the room. It doesn't look as though she has had the chance to shower after her last assignment ended, let alone sleep. She's still wearing the lower half of a low-profile vacc suit, and the liner underneath (coolant tubes and all) covers her up to the neck. Black letters on the right side of her chest stand in stark contrast to the white undergarment; they spell out the word 'KISMET'. She wears the rank insignia of a third-class technician. 'Kismet' finds an empty seat and sits down without looking up from the clipboard.

If the conditions in the briefing room bother her, she hasn't shown it. The slightly odd carriage and cadence of her walk tell you she spends a lot of time in null-gee. You get the impression that any time she doesn't spend there, she spends in briefing rooms like this one.

Lifting his head to watch the new arrival, Frank started to wonder if he was going to be the only one who didn't know what the hell he was doing. By the looks of the other two, they had plenty of experience in this sort of field, while the toughest job he had back on his home colony was guarding a back door with a canister of pepper spray and a panic button that would call the real cops.

Deciding he would look better doing something than just laying on the table, Frank stood up and headed for the coffee and bagels. His eyes scanned the front of the brown haired girl as he passed her, recognizing the technician insignia, and reading what he assumed to be her handle, "KIMSET". Their eyes met for a brief second, and he nodded slightly while simultaneously blurting out "Morning, err... evening.." quickly, he added "I'm Frank." with a sheepish smile.

Subject 20 entered the room, his eyes quickly adjusting to the stark white lighting. He himself was dressed in an all-white uniform, which is what he was told to wear. He noticed the other three in the room but said nothing to them, not sure what they would turn out to be.

Marc mentally noted the arrival of the others. He was busy blowing on his coffee to cool it with each entrance after his. He gave each a respectful nod of acknowledgement as they arrived. His head still had a dull throb that interfered with any logical train of thought on who these people might be. Looking back on it, whiskey may not have been the prefered drink of choice yesterday afternoon. Ah, what the hell, can't be any worst than bein inservice, he thought to himself. Best to just wait it out and see what the head-shed had thought up this time. They never ceased to amaze him with their crazy schemes.

"Hey," she smiles back."Don't worry about

I assume we're in space now?

station time; you'll catch up pretty quick." She glances around the room: "That's a lot of muscle for standard

search and rescue

SAR... what the hell do they think happened on the Verdammung?" she asks quietly.

There is a large static burst as the holoprojector in the center of the ceiling turns on. A window appears in front of each of you and mission briefing data fills the screen.
Greetings and thank you for arriving.
A simulated female voice announces
The CSS Vandammung communications blackout has, as of 2 hours, 37 minute, and 17 seconds ago, been qualified and authorized for a LSIR mission. 4 days, 14 hours, 9 minutes, and 3 seconds ago, a transmission from one of the Vandammung's AIs was received.
There is a pause.
The AI that sent the transmission was the Doctor Worm system, which has been reported to be psychologically unstable. The message is a damage report, which has been sent to your mission briefing file. Any questions so far?

"Are there any theories as to the malfunctions, ma'am?" Subject 20 asked. He worried that they would be working against a rogue AI, something he had no idea how to kill.