The groan of aged shock absorbers echoes through the forest as Vincent pulls his vehicle off the country road he'd been driving on for what seemed like miles. Through the foliage, it's impossible to see, but the dirt road slowly merges into freshly paved concrete that signals he's arrived at the entrance to a military base. The paving is only just wide enough to comfortably fit a single vehicle, demanding a bit more attention to stay on the winding road as it unfolds at a shallow angle that his vehicle somewhat struggles against. As the trees start to thin, Vincent spots a large grey building in the distance, surrounded by guard-posts and barbed wire fencing.

Slowing to a stop at the gate, Vincent rolls down the window by hand, pulling a keycard hanging off his neck and pressing it to the black pad outside the window. Automatically the gate opens for him with a buzzer, allowing him to pull his vehicle in. A few lines have been set into the concrete clearly meant for cars to park. Only a single space has been taken by a familiar brown van, perhaps the only vehicle in hundreds of miles older than Vincent's. Rolling up next to the van, Vincent stops and climbs out of his vehicle; he considers locking the door, but shrugs it off figuring that no-one would likely go rifling through what little he has in there.

The building itself is relatively unassuming on the outside; a boring grey, with a flat roof. A big '8' is painted on the front in black, the only real feature that stands out. Anyone on the outside would assume it was probably privately owned, perhaps an unimportant warehouse due to its secluded location and bland exterior. The front of the building is also home to a metallic door, with a single light shining over it. There's also a garage door, also metallic, likely made of aluminum, though much wider and taller than any traditional garage door.

Like the gate before it, there's a single black pad on the side of it meant for a keycard. Vincent approaches it cautiously and with an eyebrow raised. Pressing his keycard to it, it unlocks audibly, allowing him to open it. He steps inside, closing the door as he enters, which immediately locks behind him with whirring mechanism. As one would expect from a newly erected building, the inside of it is mostly empty, except for some crates stacked upon more crates, and some desks and chairs. Several of the crates have already been opened, with packing peanuts strewn about the floor in a scattered trail leading across the room to a desk already setup. On the wall, numerous computer monitors have been placed that almost look precariously hung, and sitting nearby are two familiar faces.

"About time you got here, Vince. Took you forever." Don turns his electric wheelchair to face his old friend. "Thought you got lost. I gave you perfect directions."

"Didn't exactly have any trouble finding this place, the ol' girl just doesn't handle these kinds of roads that well anymore," Vincent responds, raising an eyebrow as he realizes that Don has a completely new wheelchair. "Who paid for that?"

"The tax payers did." Don chuckles, looking over at the man standing next to him. "Vince, this is Michael Hagan. The guy that the suits chose to keep an eye on us."

"Yeah. I know." Vincent lifts a hand to scratch at his own neck idly. "We've met. How's your jaw, Mikey?"

"Fuck off." Michael sneers, turning around to start working on hanging up another monitor. "How many of these things do you even need?"

"As many as I can get," Don responds, giving Vincent a knowing smirk. "Michael here's been helping me get setup. We've got a lot of work to do to get this place looking like home. Hopefully you plan to help."

Chewing his bottom lip, Vincent mulls it over. "Once I've got some coffee in me, sure."

"Jesus. I know your undying obsession with coffee, so I had Michael set up a coffee machine and brew you some. Should still be hot." Don motions over near the garage door, where upon a table sits a simple coffee pot, with some cream and sugar left out, already open and waiting. "Our potential new hire should also be here soon, too."

Vincent bridges the short gap between himself and what he considers to be Elysium, pouring himself a mug. He mixes in some cream and sugar, before taking a sip of it. "Ah, that hits the spot. I see they spared no expense and got me my favorite." He turns around and leans against the table, simply indulging in sip after sip, until the sound of a lock opening brings his and Don's attention to the door across the room. It opens, and into the fluorescent lights of the building wanders a dark-skinned female, still in her Marine fatigues. She lets her eyes adjust to the light before she realizes she's being stared at. Tucked neatly under her arm is a thin manila folder.

"Oh. Is this the place for the interview?" She inquires, stepping awkwardly across the room toward the three men. "Division 8?"

Vincent pauses his current coffee sip to respond. "There's an '8' on the building for a reason."

"Ah. Right. Well..." The woman looks between the three of them, before she rests her gaze on Vincent. "I'm guessing you must be Mr. Callahan?"

"In the flesh." Vincent lowers his mug to set it on the table, moving in closer to extend a hand toward her. "So what exactly can I do for ya?"

Taking his offered hand, the woman gives a firm handshake, enough to make Vincent nurse his hand a moment after she releases her grip. "I was told to come here to complete my recruitment process? They said you were the person in charge." Michael audibly groans his displeasure hearing that, moving back to the pile of crates.

Unable to help his chuckle, Vincent grins. "I think we'll get along just fine." He turns around to pick up his mug of coffee again, topping it off as he talks. "So, you must be Aliyah Allen."

"Yes, sir. Last I checked, anyway." Aliyah smiles. "A pleasure to meet you."

Vincent licks some stray coffee off his lips, motioning to the other two men. "These two are Donovan Perry and Michael Hagan. Don is the eyes and ears of Division 8, and Michael's our glass jaw."

"Funny," comes Michael's response as he crosses the room with yet another monitor in hand.

Ignoring him with a chuckle, Vincent reaches a hand out and waits. Aliyah immediately realizes what he's asking for and hands over the manila folder still under her arm. He opens it up and looks through it for a moment, mostly information about Aliyah, both past and present. "I'll be honest with you, Aliyah, I've already looked through your file and I personally think you're the most qualified person for the job. That's why you're standing here today."

Vincent sips his coffee. "It's not really so much about whether you have the position. You already do. What I'd like to know, and what's more important to me, is whether or not you want the position. It's not going to be a walk in the park. You're going to see and do a lot of things you never imagined. We'll be going all around the world. You won't be home a whole lot. And most of what we'll do will be classified. You won't be able to tell a soul about any of it. On the other hand, the pay is leagues above what you were doing before, and the coffee is nice. And, if we're lucky, we might just get to meet aliens. Interested?"

Aliyah quietly mulls it over, staring straight at Vincent, before allowing her eyes to cross the room, over the crates and the emptiness, then back over toward the three. Michael sighs and decides to take a break, his gaze on Vincent and Aliyah just the same as Don's was, though the two remain quiet. Considering Don and Michael for a moment, she faces Vincent and nods calmly. "Yes, sir." She smiles. "I'd be honored to serve my country as part of this division. I'm okay with classified information. Doesn't bother me."

Vincent nods, setting his now empty mug down on a table and leaving it behind, closing the manila folder and handing it back to Aliyah. "I thought that might be the case, so I went ahead and put in the order for your new suit." He crosses the room to check through the crates, looking for a specific number. When he finds it, he pulls the crate off the stack, carries it over to the others, and sets it on the ground. Using a crowbar to open it, he sets aside the top and digs around through the packing material.

After rummaging through the crate, Vincent pulls out three metal briefcases. Each one has the number '8' carved or laser etched into the metal, and on the handle, the name of who it belongs to. He hands Aliyah hers, and then Michael his, who begrudgingly accepts it from him. Aliyah opens her briefcase to find a black suit and a black messer fedora. She laughs a bit, holding up the hat and setting it on her head. "A fedora, huh? Really?" She giggles, tipping it forward. "I guess that explains a lot." Her eyes drift up to Vincent's own fedora, still perched on his head.

"What can I say? I think they're classy." Vincent motions to the nearby stairs. "Head up to the bathroom and try it on."

Aliyah nods and turns to head for the stairs. "Be back soon."

Once she's out of sight, Vincent turns back to the other two men. "I trust you two read the file on her already?"

"Yes, I did." Don responds, turning on the computer he'd finished setting up. He quickly enters a password and loads up a few files including the dossiers of potential recruits.

"As much as I hate to say this, I can't argue with your pick." Michael leans against the wall next to Don's setup, his arms crossed. "She seems the most qualified for what we're doing. Multilingual, best in her class, has a history with the paranormal. Hell, she's even a better shot than I am according to the report." He lifts his briefcase to stare at it, before he shrugs and puts it under his arm, then pushes himself away from the wall. "I'm going to go try this thing on so I can see how tacky it looks." He turns to head for the door, unlocking it before stepping outside.

Alone with Don, Vincent turns back to his friend, who is all smiles. "So, what do you think about all this? Not bad, right? It's better a situation for you, I'm sure." He leans down to pick up the briefcase with his name on it. "I hope you're ready for this."

"Are you kidding? I've been dreaming of this day all my life. Getting to be privy to top secret information, knowing that things like aliens possibly exist?" Don grins, rubbing his hands together. "I've never been more excited in my life."

Patting his friend on the shoulder, Vincent smirks down at him. "You better be thankful that I dragged you out of that cesspit of a trailer park you were living in."

"Yeah, yeah," Don swats at Vincent's hand. "Go get your suit on. I wanna see the team all decked out in the goods."

With a shrug, Vincent takes the only privacy he can get: behind the pile of crates. Opening the briefcase, he takes out the suit and puts it all on piece by piece. Settling the new fedora on his head, he steps back into view and puts his old clothes on the nearby table alongside the coffee maker. Aliyah wanders down the stairs, offering a grin. "Looking dapper there, Mr. Callahan," she compliments him.

"What's the female version of dapper? You're that," Vincent responds with a smirk, adjusting his fedora atop his head. "Oh and, call me Vince." He turns his attention back to the door as it unlocks and opens again, Michael stepping into the building from outside, dressed similarly as the other two. "Well, look at you, Michael. You look respectable for once."

Michael purses his lips to avoid cursing a third time, and just shoots Vincent a dangerous look before rejoining the group.

"So, tacky? Not tacky?" Vincent smirks, quirking an eyebrow at the other man.

"I'd need to look in a mirror to be sure, but these suits are definitely well made and perfectly tailored. I don't know how you got my measurements, but..." Michael pauses, looking over at Don, who waves a hand with a smug look. "Right, I forgot your crippled friend here knows everything."

Don laughs, leaning back comfortably in his new chair. "Oh, I know a lot but not everything, yet. But real, real soon. Oh, speaking of which. I forgot that before you laggards arrived, our boss came by with some files, our first orders." He plucks a second folder out of a bag settled on the back of his wheelchair, offering it to Vincent. "A mission, actually."

Taking the folder, Vincent rifles through it slowly and skims the material. "Looks like it might be related to the Buckhorn Mountain incident. Great. Seems I can't escape it." He uses his free hand to scratch at his head. "All right." He closes the folder and holds it out to Aliyah, who takes it and smiles. "Michael. I know we're not the best of friends, but let's try to keep it professional while we're working here. This goes beyond us now. That okay with you?"

Michael stares quietly at Vincent for a moment, before he finally nods in response. "Fine."

"Good." Pleased, Vincent lifts a hand to his tie and tightens it a bit. "Then let's get to work."