2013.08.07 - Welcome to our Nightmare

It's a sunny day; of course it would be, what with the SHIELD Helicarrier easily above any low-lying clouds. Little puffs of white dance in the skies beside the giant 'carrier, and as aircraft are launched and trapped, the Air Boss is at the edge with his clipboard.

It's a day of firsts for the 'Carrier. Carrier Quals are being done, a few new pilots have been added to the roster, and they need to be able to land on the deck of the Argus.

(That's why the Director likes to hire Navy pilots. Been there, done that.)

The other 'new recruits' are off to the side of the trap cables, the spiel of 'welcome aboard' long since passed by the recruiting officer, as is most of the Director's 'Welcome aboard' speech. Everyone has been given their badges, designating their security levels. Some are low level, cleared only for the main decks. As clearances get higher, the upper decks are available, as are the network allowances.

"We run a 24 hour operation here, just like Mr McConnell said. I expect," None of this 'we' bullshit for the Director! "-that you all will probably be pulling extra shifts as we've been kicked into Orange Status. We -have- to have certain locations manned, and if they're not?" The Director smiles, and it's a wolfish sort of expression, "Your asses will be pulled and stuck into the seat until the emergency passes."

There is a loud *WHOOOOSH!!* from engines, the sort that requires hearing protection if the carrier ops were under strict OSHA regs. A mean looking fighter comes in at top speed, drooping and dragging a tailhook until it catches the thick, middle cable. The engines whine, burning hot, before the pilot is virtually thrown forward into his screen. A second later, the engines power down enough to unhook, and taxi towards a spot as designated by Deck Ops.

"Are there any questions?" They've gone through shifts, food, and pay.

There's a notable security gap between the new recruits and anything tied to the Helicarrier. Up in the sky, security is fierce. Back down on ol' terra firma there's plenty of loopholes, if one knows where to look.

Mystique knew where to look.

Rather than do this the hard way and create a whole new identity to work her way into the ranks as she had times before (hello, DARPA,) she's picked through the list of names and went through her own research. In the end she settled on Sarah Hayes, a trim and wiry five foot seven woman with short cropped brown hair, green eyes, and the sort of jawline one might come to expect from a woman that had a tough upbringing and an abusive alcoholic father.

She's a no nonsense, no BS sort of woman. She had been fun to break.

The real Sarah is no more, now replaced by the metamorphic mutant. A new recruit may be starting a bit lower on the food chain than she would like but she is nothing if not resourceful. That Sarah had gone into Intelligence Ops already places her in the right ballpark, too. It's a good fit. Voice, body, mannerisms, DNA, it's all been copied. The woman's daily routine won't matter now that she's getting transferred to a new gig. All that's left to do now is play the part, not be the nail to stick out, and begin weaving her intricate network of deceit.

Child's play.

No questions are voiced from where Sarah stands, hands fixed behind her in the smart sort of at attention pose that the other recruits have taken on. Just another uniformed operative amongst the masses. Nothing to see here, gentlemen.

With no questions, the Director takes a step back and nods at the Recruiting Officer, who then steps forward to call out, "You each have a working map of the helicarrier so you won't get lost. No sneaking into places you're not supposed to be. Guards will challenge only once. Remember that." SHIELD isn't 'this man's army', after all.

"If there are no more questions, you're dismissed until 17 hundred hours when we reconvene in the mess."

With that, Mr. McConnell turns around and offers a quick 'salute' of sorts, the best a civilian can, and takes a step back before departing the deck. Thus leaving the new recruits to their own devices, there are a couple of murmurs in the gathered group.

"Okay? Now I'd really like to see the rec area!" comes from one youngish man who looks like he'd only crested his 20th birthday recently. He's got his map out, and looking at it by lifting it into the air, a SHIELD fighter comes in as a backdrop to the paper.

"Rec? What the hell? Data center. I've got my log-on."

"How'd you get your log-in info?" There's a woman, mid-twenties, that is craning her neck to see if she can't discern information about that little tidbit. "Really?"

The Director stands, watching, before he clears his throat, and nods towards the stairwell to leave the active flight deck. "Get the hell off the deck. Everyone in logistics, you'll be meeting with Sergeant Wilson. Intel, with me."

In case anyone didn't think he was serious, Fury begins to make his way to the stairwell in question.

What is this now, SHIELD is enlisting children? Sarah, the original Sarah, may not have been all that old, herself, but some of these kids look like they should still be in high school! They'll be easy to manipulate and work around.

Knowing that the guards only challenge once is noted, not that she had ever planned on allowing them that first chance. Sometimes one gets lucky, though only for a moment.

While the others are busy playing with their maps and yapping about like they're out on recess Sarah stands strong. An island of her very own. That whole air of 'this is my duty, not a game.' With a twist. The real Sarah's history has led her to instinctively distrust men, particularly those of power. What results is that the woman, both late original and current copy, only give people like Fury respect because it's expected of them. It's taken her years of having to learn how to sit on her own emotions toward the matter and not listen to what people like him have to say.

Years for the original, ten seconds for Mystique. It's all another layer to the game she plays.

When Fury gives the call there's a smart but momentary duck of her head as she falls in line behind the Director. Best foot forward, now! Just get her settled in front of a secure terminal and leave her to her work. She has all the time in the world to study the map and plot out her routes.

The Navy uses high school graduates to run Deck Ops. No one that helps orchestrate the dance of aircraft is over the age of 21! It's a testament to training and dedication that there are so few accidents. Sadly, when they do happen, it's usually deadly, whether it's a cable snapping or a decap by a helo.

All told, from the group, there are three others that line up behind Miss Hayes, two men and another woman, each hovering near their thirtieth birthday, more or less. The pair of men look as if they're out of the Marines, their haircuts still drawn up high and tight, and the woman is a brunette, her hair tied up in a high ponytail.

Director Fury looks back at the way things have fallen out, and he nods his head once, definitively. "Okay, agents." Looking briefly at each one of them with that single, uncovered eye, he looks as if in that second, he's got every little facial nuance memorized. "Downstairs," and he gestures towards the exit before taking it himself.

The stairs are almost vertical within their stairwells, the iron grating on each of the step designed to be 'non slip', and the hand railings are wrapped- but no one swears that the stairs are 'non fall'. It's hell on the knees!

One deck, two, three decks are travelled before he pauses at the door that leads, undoubtedly, to the corridors of their intel-gathering departments.

"Each of you have file waiting for you on your email. That should have been given to you at the beginning of orientation. There, you will find your orders."

Pushing open the door to the corridor, it's a long hallway that lies before them, doors on either side either closed or open, bulk-heads with knee-knockers evenly spaced. This is, after all, still an ocean-going vessel too.

"In your papers, you'll find your duty station on the page with your billet numbers. That should correspond with your room number." And each numbered room corresponds with a specific target.

And the field trip begins.

Power can be intoxicating. Here's Mystique, within shanking distance of the one and only Nick Fury. Whether by the standard issue sidearm they all wear or by her own physique morphed into something deadly she could forever remove him as a threat here and now and be back in time for dinner.

One must learn to behave herself. Now, while an open opportunity, is not the proper moment. It's hardly even the proper objective. Any old assassin could be called forth to take out Fury. Her prize is much more rewarding, and with much higher stakes.

Her senses are hard at work, cataloguing and memorizing every little detail which she can. Like these stairs, for instance. One good trip or piece of debris and this passage would be effectively hamstringed to anyone attempting to give pursuit. One good bang and the whole stairwell might end up being completely useless. This carrier is a metal maze, cutting off a few key points could turn it into a giant rat maze. It would buy her a lot of time.

Even the other three that arrived here with her today are noted. The other woman's not that different in shape and appearance, which could work out to her advantage later. The worst part will be having a bit less privacy while working her assigned terminal, though even that won't end up being too big of a bother.

This particular nut is as good as cracked wide open.

Now, the paper-rifling begins anew under Director Fury's watchful eye. The other woman looks at her sheet, and she blinks once, twice, before she offers a question. "And how do we know what it is we're assigned?"

One of the men snorts a derisive laugh, and gently shoves the woman, "The Director would tell you, but then he'd have to kill you." The other young man laughs in something of a frat-brother sound of support, and as the woman spins around on her heel, the pair of men attempt innocent expressions.

Fury looks back at the pair of men, and clears his throat, his tones still so very businesslike, and professional. He's not here to be pals. "I don't kill for things like that. I just don't tell. Makes things less messy."

Stepping into the corridor now, Fury begins the slow walk, knowing that at least the 2 men and woman is looking at their papers as well as the doors. Door designations are suitably confusing; no hint of deck designation, no hint of duty designation. The carrier is definitely a maze filled with its own little cache of secrets that only one man truly knows.

"Ladies and gentlemen, go forth and log in. If you have any questions, don't ask me. Ask your direct report." Each are in their own different room. "I remind you, however. If I catch anyone talking about information gathered to those that don't need to know, I will cut your tongues out."

Here, Nick Fury smiles, and the gesture looks amiable?! "I look forward to your first reports, due on my desk tomorrow at Oh-eight-hundred."

She's surrounded by humans... Dim-witted, narrow-minded, oblivious specimens, and they call themselves intelligence operatives! Even out here the good ol' boys try to mark their territory with their general blunt force methods. Here stands a mutant assassin, plotting the downfall of SHIELD, and she's already feeling herself siding with the lesser creature that happens to be of the same gender as she.

"If that's the best you two have to offer then you're in the wrong division," 'Sarah' cooly responds with her green eyes narrowed.

Ignorant fools.

With the warning Fury addresses Sarah forces a thin smile upon her face. "Don't worry about these two, Sir. They'll be too busy licking each other's balls to say anything meaningful."

Right, then. Pecking order established. Assuming she gets away with her retort in front of the Director she'll just have herself a seat at her terminal and get herself properly settled in.

Now, Nick Fury has the loyalty of his men and women for a reason. He steps in when necessary, and stays the hell out of the way of his people when he doesn't. And here is a perfect example. 'Sarah's comment to the men is something that he doesn't interfere with. The woman that finds herself defended by her colleague first looks shocked, then pleased, if not a little relieved.

"I hope they'll find better use of their time during duty hours, Agent," and here Fury pauses before he pulls the name out of the depths of his memory, "Hayes." Though there's a glint in that single, visible eye that says that he's holding back on his own snarky comment.

Later.

"Now, get your asses to work. Check your email, and I don't care how long it takes, but I do expect that report. Late, and be prepared to tell me why. And I don't take excuses."

There, the Director turns about and heads back towards the stairwell, going back to work himself. The woman lets out her breath when the Director departs, and turns about before Sarah is able to disappear on her. "Karen. Karen Chilvers. Nice to meet you, Agent Hayes." There's a moment before, "And thank you!"

Now, it's her turn to find her office, and work to be started!