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<b><s> <s> <s>  //     </s></s></s></b><br/>
<b>ACCESS LOG</b></span> --&gt; <i><b><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'">DOSSIER</span></b> <b><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'">LOOKUP</span>.</b></i></span></span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(51, 102, 0)"><span style="font-size: 15px"><b>CDR. CANAAN DRENNEN</b></span></span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(51, 102, 0)"><i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'">CURRENT STATUS --&gt; ACTIVE.</span></i></span></span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(51, 102, 0)"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'"><span style="font-size: 9px">access to subject records: denied.<br/>
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<s> <s> <s> <s>//		   </s></s></s></s><br/>
</span></span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><br/>
Petty Officer Mikhail Nazarov was never quite known for conducting himself in a manner that befits addressing a superior -- be it the Commander or the General himself -- but the half-dead XO had read his dossier more times than he could count. He knew </span></span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">what the kid was capable of, including his background and aptitudes. Maybe it was his attitude that kept him from rising in the ranks. Did it really matter? Nazarov was always a hotshot with an itchy trigger finger and most importantly he knew how efficient he was at getting the job </span></span></span><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">done</span></span></span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">. Besides, he'd been the only one on the Commanders' squad that had a big enough mouth to actually call Sugawara out on any of his shit and knock him down a few pegs. The Corps needed that kind of humility whether Drennen thought similarly of his superiors or not.<br/>
<br/>
Nazarovs' remark, though off-kilter, was well-warranted. It's strange how a man could stand to salute another while at the same time taking a wise crack at his appearance. <i>Keep talking, Nazarov, and <b>you'll </b>be the one waking up on a cot in the morning</i>. The relationship between the two had always been antagonistic, but never was there any huge amount of respect lost in its wake. Drennen was on the verge of of an "at ease, Officer Nazarov" before being interrupted by Sugawara. Both Nazarov and the Commander were probably thinking the same thing, shouldn't the rest of the ground team be here for this? Unless Sugawara was planning on sending just the two of them for some sort of reconnaissance, this mission was probably bigger than he'd initially assumed. Finding a suitable replacement for McDermott, maybe? Had that much time passed already?<br/>
</span></span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 10px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><i>'I’d offer you both a seat but I want both of your asses out of here as soon as I’m done discussing this operation.' </i>Yes<i>, </i>sir(!) the Commander would reply given the chance. Rising in the ranks always put more pressure on an officer to kiss as much ass as possible - something Nazarov would probably have to learn if he wanted to increase his own station in the Corps.</span></span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">The Commander maintained his respectful posture, chin tilted a little higher above the rabble as if his entire unit were right in front of him. His gaze moved pointedly down his nose and at the table separating him and the General.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(153, 204, 255)">( SOL-SOON ADVANCED GENETICS )</span><br/>
</span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)">The Commanders' brows furrowed for a split second before his expression returned to a neutral poker face. Sol-Soon Advanced Genetics. The Commander was always under the impression that the scientific corporation had a contract specifically with the DOD. To hear that wasn't the case was... somewhat jarring. This "unaffiliated faction" and their manufactured soldiers, why would the General trust a test-run with this corporation if there was nothing binding in place to keep from them selling their bioweapons to a higher bidder?<br/>
<br/>
He did not have enough time to pose a question. The holographic logo was soon replaced, and the Commander was almost immediately plunged into the same depths of the uncanny valley he'd experienced for the first time in near-death delirium at Bloodmoon. Decades ago there had been a group of scientists that came together and formed a hypothesis, "what is the perfect human?" It was in the symmetrical looks, they concluded - not a freckle that wasn't shared from one side to the other - not a breast too big or small. It was a perfect body that was toned enough to carry a lot of functionality even into old age and resilient enough to scab over any wound in seconds. It was an immune system that was so developed it was enough to combat any sort of exposed virus without the assistance of </span></span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">vaccinations. Healthy soft tissues and organs that would not turn cancerous or shrivel and die with age - a brain that would not lose memory nor overthink or doubt itself. A perfect diet, a perfect lifestyle. White teeth. Was this lineup of immaculate barcoded "humans" the result of this hypothesis? Were the scientists that tested these theories originally the same ones that developed the prototype that plucked him right out of the line of fire? For a moment he was back there at his first meeting with the Avoxxis.<br/>
<br/>
General Sugawara continued even through the Commanders' ruminations. The Avoxxis profiles were swept away in a flash and a headshot image lit up the holographic interface. Alongside the image of a perfect white-skinned woman wearing a neutral expression enough to rival his own, a headline reading "AXS-062" flashed, along with a rolling sidebar of what looked like general technological bullshit that he couldn't make sense of but Basche probably would get a hard-on over. <i>Operation AXS-062.</i><br/>
<br/>
The Commanders' brows furrowed once again and he turned his gaze to gauge Nazarovs' reaction on all of this. Of course, the young officer was eager for action as always and this operation didn't sound like it was going to get the adrenaline pumping anytime soon.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(191, 191, 191)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"With all due respect, General, I don't really like the idea of handing spec-ops grade weapons over to something that has a serial number and telling it to open fire. Does this... <i>Avoxxis</i> have a codename or am I going to have to get used to the numbers?"</span></span></span>​</div><br/><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">If Ylona and Basche were already sent ahead, he would probably have only a few minutes to suit-up and go, still finding it difficult to believe that this corporation would be able to remain neutral forever - not in the midst of another all-out war. This did not stop him from getting as much clarification as he could before moving out.<br/>
<br/>
General Sugawara looked Drennen square in the eye before letting out something between a scoff and an exasperated sigh.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(51, 102, 0)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"I knew you were going to give me a hard time about this, Commander. It's not enough that I already had to deal with Officer Nazarov before your <i>timely</i> arrival but I have no more patience for this. You've already been briefed on all that was forwarded to me by SSAG. You want more answers? So do I. Suit up and be ready to move out in ten. Nazarov will be waiting at the helipad for air transport. You will report to a Dr. Gemma Won once you arrive. I expect an initial report once AXS-062 has been retreived. Both of you, <i>dismissed</i>."</span></span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">General Sugawara gave the Commander a quick salute, a gesture that was returned with a heel click and a salute of Drennens' own before the woman with the cold eyes was shut off from the holographic interface and Sugawara turned his back on the two in his company. Drennen spoke to Nazarov on his way out of the tent for the first time that morning.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(191, 191, 191)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"You heard the man. Get out to the helipad and wait for my arrival."<br/>
</span></span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">The Commander moved to make way for the armory, but one last thought crossed his mind before stepping out. He looked back over his shoulder at Nazarov, a shit-eating smirk fell over his features.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(191, 191, 191)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"By the way, I'm putting you on clean-up duty. Any mess this thing makes if it malfunctions on a mission is now your problem. <i>Have fun.</i>"<br/>
</span></span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 18px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(64, 64, 64)">✭</span></span></span><br/>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)">Sterile. This laboratorys' halls did nothing to stop the reverberation of sound as Drennen and Nazarov were escorted through the maze of departments by a young high-heeled secretary. She did not speak much at all, instead turning this way and that. The two behind her actually had to march at a quicker pace to keep up, the sound of steel combat boots hitting the floor with steady thuds. The most the secretary did was pause at a large sealed door or two to put her face up to a recognition scanner. The deeper they delved into the laboratory at SSAG the more barriers and security measures the duo had to pass through. There was even a point where they were made to pass through a dual X-Ray and DNA scanner before being able to continue on.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 255, 153)"><i>Usually, we don't allow firearms outside of the testing chambers, but we here at Sol-Soon Advanced Genetics recognize that this is a special case and welcome you -</i> </span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)">the monotone voice switched to that of a more mature tone, tinged with a slight Chinese accent of unknown dialect for a moment as the automated system addressed him by his name </span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 153, 153)">- Commander Canaan Drennen - </span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)">the voice reverted back to its cheery default </span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 255, 153)"><i>- to our state-of-the-art Development &amp; Trial Chambers! Please be sure that you keep your weapons holstered at all times as the safety of our staff and subjects is our top priority. Thank you for visiting us, and remember, <b>n</b><i><b>atura nihil frustra facit!</b></i></i><br/>
</span></span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)">The last sealed doors open to a department that definitely looked larger from the inside than the outside. The secretary took a final turn towards Drennen and Nazarov and bowed respectfully before turning heel to go back they way they'd came. The two remained planted past the barrier between what was open to the public and what was obviously for select eyes only.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(191, 191, 191)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Dr. Gemma Won is the name."<br/>
</span></span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">The Commander had read a short dossier on Dr. Won via holotablet on the transport over. Born 2046, birth name Fei Won, to a genetic scientist father in Beijing and a medical doctor mother. Emigrated to America when she was thirteen years old and received a Doctorate in Clinical Anatomy and Biology at thirty-two years old. Spent some time with startup medical companies that were mostly nonprofit and worked to eliminate any faults in the genetic makeup of human DNA from pregnant women, Downs Syndrome and the like. A generally uninteresting background but it helped to know what the Commander was getting into nonetheless.<br/>
<br/>
Almost as if on-cue, an older woman with kind eyes and a wide smile stepped into view. Extending a wrinkled hand, she introduced herself with no hint of any ill-intentions.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 153, 153)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Commander? Dr. Gemma Won. I spoke with your General about arranging this meeting and was the one that forwarded the briefing materials to him. I must admit I didn't expect you to come with such - firepower - in tow. But what do I know? I'm not a soldier. "Expect anything at anytime", I'm guessing?"<br/>
</span></span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">Drennen took her hand and shook it firmly, speaking as he did so.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(191, 191, 191)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Don't mind the firepower, if we intended to use it we would have already. A pleasure to make your acquaintance Dr. Won. This man here is my squadmate, Petty Officer Mikhail Nazarov. We're here to make a pickup. I suspect you know this already..."<br/>
</span></span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 153, 153)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Ah! Ah, yes. Let's walk while we talk."<br/>
</span></span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">Nazarov trailed just behind the Commander as he walked at Dr. Wons' side. An observation room was passed, and Drennen paused in from of it. Through the pane of glass that separated the scenes, he saw a pristine white room with no visible corners - almost as if what was taking place inside of it was backdropped against a realm of purgatory outside his own. There was a single monitor on top of a rolling cart, a lab-coated doctor, and what looked like a prototype Avoxxis. The Avoxxis was laid down on an elevated medical cot. The doctor was leaned over it with a light so bright it was reflected off of all the white in the room, almost blinding. The Commander squinted, placed an arm along the railing at the top of the window and leaned against it to get a better look. Dr. Won paused and backtracked back towards the observant Commander.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 153, 153)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"That is one of the prototypes we developed around one year ago now. Notice the red irises? They are red because the eyes are basically nothing more than live video-feed cameras. This is one of the same models that assisted you on one of your operations, is it not? The first generation of Avoxxii were more android than human. All of the flesh, blood, and organs were successfully spliced and we remapped the genetic code of them to a permanent state of excellence but the brain - well, finding a way to wipe and remap a human brain is the most challenging aspect of this job. The brain was completely artificial, as was the spine, corneas, and nerve-endings. All directives given were passed down directly from me. Not much unlike AXS-062, but these prototype Avoxxis were more VI than AI. We had to maintain a constant connection and feed of directives or else a unit would go into automatic shut-down without it. AXS-062 only needs an initial directive, but then again she is one of the first of our subjects to be fully organic! We couldn't have done this all on our own. We are good with genetics, we are not so good with developing android tech - so we contracted Vantablack Technological Innovations to assist us with that."<br/>
</span></span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">The prototype Avoxxis' eyes dropped as the doctor moved away and the glaring light was shut off. They dropped to stare right through the Commander.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 153, 153)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Don't worry about that, he can't see you..."<br/>
</span></span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(191, 191, 191)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"'<i>He'</i>? Not '<i>It'</i>?"</span></span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 153, 153)"><span style="font-size: 10px"><br/>
"Yes, <i>he</i>..."<br/>
</span></span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">Dr. Won stepped forward to tap against the glass with a single knuckle. She smiled once again.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 153, 153)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Two-way mirror."<br/>
</span></span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(191, 191, 191)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"I see..."</span></span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 153, 153)"><span style="font-size: 10px"><br/>
"We should be on our way, your squadmates Langdon and Ylona have already been introduced to AXS-062, and don't worry, I have left two of my top scientists with them to make sure nothing <i>unsavory </i>transpires while I'm retrieving you."<br/>
</span></span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">Drennen pushed himself away from the observation room. Though Dr. Won had tried to assure him that the prototype couldn't see, he had his doubts. He continued to walk side-by-side with Dr. Won in silence as she droned on about the different generations of Avoxii that had come to pass over the past year. Some were successes, most were failures. All he could pick up from what she was saying was that this particular serial number assigned to his protection was "the biggest breakthrough yet!". Fantastic. He wished he could match her enthusiasm.<br/>
<br/>
The trio was soon face-to-face with a sliding plexiglass door. Dr. Won clasped her hands together in front of her in anticipation.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 153, 153)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Commander, I haven't told you this yet but it is a great honor for AXS-062 to be assigned to your squad! You won't be disappointed."<br/>
</span></span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">They stepped into the room to what looked like the fucking circus rolling through. Yes, Ylona Nazarov and Langdon Basche were there - and it wasn't enough to be simply mesmerized by something they couldn't even have begun to comprehend, no, Ylona had to start poking at it. The distraction was enough for him to not even be able to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. Basche looked like he no longer even knew who this woman was. There were two other scientists there, as Dr. Won had assured him, but both of them looked like they were moreso trying to avoid breaking out into full-on laughter than actually doing anything to stop the sibling.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(191, 191, 191)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"<i>What in the Hell are you doing</i>, Officer Ylona Nazarov?"</span></span></span>​</div>