something something im going to kill myself

```November 26th 2015 - A.D.A.P.T. Compound, near Lake Edward in the Democratic Republic of Congo```

God he fucking hated this country. Scratch that- This fucking continent. It was always so abysmally hot, he was practically scratching off layers of skin at this point. He'd lost track on what Cohort this was for the year. Five? Six? Fuck if he cared. It was a smaller group, not quite as large as his had been but times were getting tough, and they would no doubt get tougher. A sizeable Cohort of 15 Recruits. It wasn't the biggest, he'd seen but yet not the smallest. 3 Fireteams was a good size to work with. In frankness, it was Ryker's first proper run at Instructor duty. He'd had a dry-run a few years back but the Division had been adamant about not losing one of their premier Agents. He'd been recalled but this time around they weren't so keen on taking him back. Arguments tend to cause such things. He wasn't malicious by nature, he was just very... unorthodox. There were distinct things about the way Ryker worked and operated that made him just that good. He excelled very well on his own, but with people it was a little bit more difficult. If he had reliable drones, he could work just as well. But some uppity punk who thought they knew better, that was the worst. Especially the spoilt entitled ones. There were a few in this Cohort, and he despised them with an unparalleled sense of hate. He would arise in the early hours of the morning. Well before the other Instructors. He didn't quite like them either. They were a little slow, and a slight bit soft. Well one of them anyway. It was some pasty white dude, who was more use in a lab coat than out in the field and an older black woman. She seemed to have gotten a little too into the role, having her head shaved, but she was effective enough.

Fireteam Opal - Agent Edward Preston
Fireteam Emerald - Senior Agent Cherise McKenna
Fireteam Red - Agent Erik Ryker

--

There were still insects buzzing when he rolled off of his bedroll. His eyes were red, and he was wrapped up in a mosquito nest, covering his bare body; naked save the pair of shorts covering his dignity. A trickle of sweat worked its way down his back, washing over the faded ink of his tattoos and the white scar tissue criss-crossing on his back. It eventually melted away as he peeled the mosquito net over him, throwing it back onto his bed roll. His hair was a mess, spiky and sticking up everywhere. He was growing a slight stubble and he hadn't had a smoke in at least a week. Times truly were tough. He grabbed one of his shirts from the duffel bag that held all of his belongings, folding it up and gripping it in one hand as he slipped into flip-flops, stepping out of his room. The ADAPT compound wasn't quite a luxurious place. It was large enough, the majority of the compound was open land. There was a decent sized building that occupied the recruits. Lower floor was recruit housing, and second floor was for the Instructors and equipment. These were early stages, so Tactical Towns weren't quite yet phased in. ADAPT preferred to give Cohorts real life tasks, placing them into the field against a threat that an effective Agent such as Ryker, or even McKenna at that point could easily handle. In this case it was tracking a pack of werehyenas that were preying on a nearby village and hunting down wildlife essential to survival. It was easy work, and good practice. He stepped down the cool, marble flooring of the house. He paused, leaning against the railing looking down into what appeared to be a sort of living room of the house. Some recruits were often found sprawled over the sofas. There wasn't a lot of funding for African Operations. There were all sorts at play, all over the world.

--

He took note of a particular recruit sprawled across the sofa below. She was ethnic, lovely skin and dark brownish hair. He bit his lip ever so slightly, exhaling before stepping back. He pulled his shirt over his head, slipping it on and sneaking into the Senior Agent's room. Ryker had always preferred to hand roll his cigarettes, but he knew McKenna had a pack on her, that she would occasionally dip into when times were tough. She liked her Camels. He pinched two, just in case he felt the need for another. He grabbed his lighter from his shorts pocket and ventured downstairs. He passed the motionless recruits, aware of the acute snoring the laborious breaths and slight whistles as he made his way outside of the compound. He placed the cigarette in his mouth, flicking the worn zippo and stepping around the back. He walked up to the wall of the compound, stepping up onto one of the wooden crates and peering over glancing out into the murky rose coloured sky. It had to be what? 5am? 6am? He sighed, taking a lengthy drag of the cigarette as he sat himself down on the crate. 6am in the fucking Congo. He was almost regretting having taken the jump from Special Activities to A.D.A.P.T, but gunning down terrorists and torturing people for information was beginning to lose its charm. He was there for that glorious rush of adrenaline. That clarity in the heat of combat.

He was glad he had taken two, for the moment he finished his first he knew that he wanted another. He tossed the first one to the ground, crunching it underneath his flip-flops as he took a drag out of the second one. To even think people volunteered for this shit. It was beyond him. As he crouched back onto the crate and looked over the wall he caught the faint glitter of something reflective in the distance; a flash of teeth. An inviting grin.

--

Come the eventual rise of the other recruits, it would be Fireteam Red's turn to venture out into the plains of the Congo. Fireteam Red consisted of four people, as opposed to the regular five. One of the recruits had the unfortunate circumstance of tumbling down a flight of stairs and breaking their forearm and fracturing several ribs. Edward Dubois, Natalia Borodin, Daria Hadid and Jacob Langford. Respectively Reyes was dubbed Red-One, and Daria was bumped into Red-Two, which most definitely did not sit well with the woman. But that was the whole point. Other than providing Ryker with entertainment, he wanted to see precisely what the woman was capable of and how far she would go. Langford and Borodin were about as brain-dead as they came. Borodin came from a medical background and could talk Ryker to sleep, and Langford was an Analyst only really brought into the fold because he'd intercepted ADAPT communications because some fucking idiot didn't encrypt their comms. Ryker absolutely despised incompetence. It got under his skin and made it crawl. Dubois was a solid candidate, a former Olympian with a background in the French Special Forces. But to be entirely frank, Ryker didn't particularly care all too much about the other recruits. For some reason this innate beauty had caught his attention and was proving to be more than just entertaining.

"Alright snowflakes," He called out, decked out in something very characteristically Ryker. He wore beige bermuda shorts and a hawaiian shirt, ray-bans plastered over his eyes and a safari hat atop his head; hiking boots keeping him sturdy. "Red Team has been given the glorious duty of going out into the field. I spotted some freaky shit earlier this morning. So guess we're checkin' that out," He muttered his accent reminiscent of a slight southern drawl but awfully faint.

--
He opened the rusted iron gates of the compound and gestured for the recruits to step forward; out of the compound as Fireteams Opal and Emerald set up their tasks for the day. "Recruit Hadid," He said, his mind pausing briefly. "You're taking point for tracking our quarry. Do not get us fucking lost," He said, his tone heavily laced with annoyance as if her presence irked him almost. The recruits on this instance were given actual firearms. They were given FN FALs, horribly plain without the faintest attachment. But beggars could not be choosers. Ryker on the other hand was allowed a certain liberty. His was an M40, an old school variant of the rifle. Probably reminiscent of the one used by Scout Snipers in Vietnam. Other than the variable zoom scope, and the custom stock it was fairly standard. He had it slung over his back, looking more like a tourist than an Agent of a shadowy Organisation.

Their quarry would take them up along the banks of the Lake, leading into something of an abandoned quarry like structure. There was a cave at the bottom and all the tracks lead to it.