Welcome to Gaia! ::

Brett peered around and sighed. Demolitions had planted their charge and were waiting for the perfect moment to detonate. Two tanks and a handful of men passed the site. *Click.* Game over to those Iraqis

Brett radioed Lintz. "Not yet." A car came screaming towards them, visibly packed with explosives. Brett cranked out three rounds into the engine, one into each tire, quickly threw another into the chamber and cased the driver in the head. One of the squadmen down below yelled and the men opened up on the car. There was a deafening and groundshaking explosion. The automobile soared maybe 40 yards into the air. There was an intense pillar of fire; the car crashed back down to the earth with a dull thud.

Brett, exhausted, hungry, and shaken, fell back into the headquarters. He had just killed an unknown large quantity of men. They may have had families, may have been widely loved. They did their job, I did mine, Brett told himself in his head.

He headed to the mess hall and shoveled the mashed potatoes and well- done steak down like a machine. Eat when you can, sleep when you can, and fight when you can. He had been taught that his whole life.

And he was trying to do just that right now.

Brett, awakening from his mechanical behavior, stalked back to his quarters, which were with the other soldiers. He had refused anything better than what his men were given. He slept fully dressed with battle attire and his pistols still in their holsters.

"I dream at night. When I sleep, I see the faces of all the men I've ever killed. They await me on the other side of the river Styx. They say, 'Welcome brother.' "

Awakening shortly before sunrise the next morn, Brett heaved his six foot seven, two hundred fifty-seven pound frame out of bed and undressed. He scratched his dangling schlong, grabbed his pistols and dressed into a fresh BDU. He let his near lifetime of training kick in.

At the age of four, Brett was taken in by a sect of mercenaries and assassins, as they had spotted his genius and cold, calculating personality. He was trained in the arts of combat at age six, while the mysterious organization had left his foster family some information on how to contact them if they needed anything.

From Ecnelis Daed, as they had called themselves, Brett learned stealth, skill and fortutude. He also learned how to break into people's minds, how to shoot a target with a .22 cal with iron sights from 600 yards, how to defend and attack with his bare hands, concealed blades, and basic weapon mastery. Basically, he learned to be deadly with anything he touched. He learned programming and hacking in their tech divisions, and got his first sucessful major political assassination under his belt at eight years old, when he killed a three star Russian Lieutenant General, who had gone rogue.

Brett walked to the mess hall, thinking about Lintz. He seemed to be a good guy, an excellent sniper, and a good soldier. But Brett suspected he hid something from all others, concealing it perfectly and moving on. Brett had read the file of every soldier to pass through these halls, even those of the deceased Falcon Corps. Something didn't seem right with Lintz' file, though. Not unlike his own.

((Just something that will make the story more interesting... I haven't even gotten close to unveiling my character's past))

Brett wolfed down some chow and headed to the command center. He began assigning combat patrols to cover the TAOR of the compound, which was a five mile square.

There had been a bit of suspiscious activity in one area and Brett wanted it confirmed, so he assigned one of his most trusted allies, Jarek Uhigur, a Command Sergeant, to go check it out. Uhigur's specializations were demolitions and ambush attacks.

A guy whom tagged along with Uhigur, Dino Lufkin, was an ex contractor for Blackwater USA. He was in Iraq under no company or government's authority or responsibility. This was one bad dude. He carried around a M259 SAW and a G3 "Shorty" sub machine gun. In his dragonskin armour, he concealed various other grenades and considerably more sinister weapons.

Brett curled his eyebrow and then casually walked over to the throng of buddies eating together. He tapped on the table quietly and they all stared at him with their mouths slightly open.

"Anything wrong here gentlemen?" Brett interrogated. No reply. "I see." Holding out his tray, he asked "Mind if I join you then?"