Richard sped down the road to the complex on his jet black ZX11. Unfortunately, the road was too short for him to enjoy the speed he was getting, and he reluctantly slowed down as he approached the parking lot. This was only the second time he had even been to the complex, and he was a little nervous still. He shouldn't be, having served two tours of combat duty in The Sandbox, but he was still going to be then new guy in this operation. Oh well, he would get through it.<br/><br/>He made his way to the security checkpoint, removing his black helmet and passing it to one of the guards who wanted to check it for anything suspicious. He wouldn't find anything to be worried about. Neither would the scanners going through his black motorcycle jacket and white shirt through the other side. As he was given his helmet back, he fished his phone out of the pocket of his blue jeans and exchanged it for his helmet. Finally, cleared by security, he wished them a good day past their bulletproof offices and went on his way.<br/><br/>He was supposed to be reporting to WAR II, so he followed the signs to get to the room. He was feeling a little warm, so he unzipped his jacket, showing a surprisingly clean white shirt. Either it was new, or the owner took particular care of his clothes. In this case, it was both, though Richard expected the now crisp colour to fade away soon enough.<br/><br/>Entering the room, he saw that he wasn't  the first to arrive. The other occupants were a heavily tattooed woman, and a man who was, by his dress and spooky-cold demeanor, some kind of scout or sniper. Unsure of what to say, he simply made his way to the closest chair and sat down, placing the helmet on the ground between his feet. Maybe he would just wait for the briefing to make introductions.