It’s not uncommon for agents to visit other organizations and train with them for short periods of time. Los Angeles and New York City are day and night when it comes to how the American Cybernetics Association puts their agents into motion. The Goddard Institute of Cybernetics keeps a watchful gaze and a gentle embrace across LA-- a reminder that whatever they needed to do to protect the people first and the law second, they’d do. In NYC, Atria agents can throw themselves into any danger with no hesitation-- hostage rescue, illegal bionics distribution, bomb threats, you name it. They make NYPD look like childs’ play.

Members of the same organization, soldiers for the same cause, but you’d be surprised how different the agents can be. The Goddard Special Operations Command, or GSOC, were hailed as some of the most elite operatives that the ACA had ever seen. Eli and his team were expecting stone-cold, dignified agents who refused to compromise their dignity for anything when they got the news that the GSOC team would be visiting Atria. 

The five agents that filed into the facility were far from what he’d expected.

The garage door of the building reels open on its mechanism with a harsh, grating noise that you couldn’t possibly miss. Sparring pairs out on the mat freeze mid-collision, agents stowing their gear quickly shut them into the cabinet, and those assigned to greet the guests stiffen and smooth out the wrinkles of their uniforms. 

Eli stands with his arms neatly folded behind his back, the protective padding on his shoulders and thighs framing his figure quite nicely. Its black body outlined with yellow and white makes for a suit that’s recognizable from a mile away, even amid the bustle of NYC. As the protectors of a busy city, their uniforms have no choice but to be symbolic of that.

Bryce wraps her dozens of short braids into a bun as the garage continues to open. “You look nervous,” she mutters. “What do we know about these guys?”

“GSOC. Five lieutenants from Goddard, all with custom, combat-grade bionics and some of the best expertise in the country. One of them is Adya Milana Prisham.”

“That robot girl?”

Eli shoves Bryce with his shoulder, but not without the smallest grin. “She’s a human brain in a bionic body. If you call her a ‘robot girl’ to her face, I will personally see to it that you never go on another mission again.”

She scoffs. “You don’t have the authority. We’re on the same playing field, Marshall.”

“So let’s keep it that way.”

The garage mechanisms screech to a halt. Outside, five agents hold onto the rungs of a small transport copter as it lands in the back lot. Its open sides allow for a quick exit during missions and its narrow body makes navigating a dense city easier compared to a standard, commercial helicopter. A couple of them wear bomber jackets embellished with Goddard’s logo: an outstretched bionic hand. 

“Holy shit! That was insane!” one of the agents says, hopping off the copter before it even lands. She smoothes down her blonde hair, rustled from the wind. “Y’all get to do this every day? Why don’t we have air transport at Goddard?”

“Because we’re not located in a city that exclusively builds up instead of out,” another explains. He shakes his hair from his face with one, swift toss. Strapped to his back are two batons and the right side of his neck is plated in dull, well-worn metal. There’s definitely a fun story to those bionics, Eli thinks.

Ironic as it is, Agent Prisham would be easy to miss among the group. Her bionic body is perfectly human from the inside out; the only suggestion that she’s made of metal would be the seams of her artificial skin, which you can’t see from beneath her sturdy, black uniform. When all her colleagues have stepped off of the copter, they all instinctively follow her lead. One intertwines her fingers with Adya’s, offering her a bright smile.

Eli clears his throat and stiffens his shoulders yet again. “I hope the trip wasn’t too rough,” he begins. “Welcome to Atria. I’m Agent Elias Marshall--”

“And Agent Bryce Peters,” Bryce finishes. They outstretch their arms to the GSOC team, but none of the agents go in for a handshake, save for one.

“Zion Scott,” he says, cold metal meeting warm flesh as he takes Bryce’s hand. Warm, brown eyes with warm, brown skin to match, not to mention the smile of a man who truly does what he loves for a living. Tightly wound, frizzy black curls sit close to his head. “Nice to meet you guys. They’re not much for formalities.”

“I see. Well, Lieutenant, I don’t want to keep you all waiting--”

The brunette woman who was once holding Agent Prisham’s hand has since wandered off, admiring the facility. “First names are fine,” she says. “I’m Reese. Blonde sharpshooter is Colby, white boy is Nate, and that lovely bucket of bolts is Adya.”

Adya offers her a loving, yet unamused gaze. 

As their guests look around the room, the agents slowly return to their activities. Bryce and Eli exchange a confused look. They were instructed to “be the best representation of Atria” when they greeted the GSOC team; hopefully this lack of formalities won’t reflect on them in the eyes of their commander.

“Where’s the rest of your team?” Zion asks Bryce. “Or are you a general?”

“Oh, no,” Bryce says with a chuckle. “We’re just agents. I don’t think they’re here yet, but--”

“Valkyries!” an aggressive, terse voice shouts across the room. “Where the hell are all of you? If you’re not on the transport in five, we’re leaving your ass here!”

Bryce buries her face in her palms. “I specifically told her not to do that today.”

Zion freezes in place and eyes the young woman who gave the order. Tucked beneath her arm is a helmet with its red and white stripes-- the mark of a medical team. She trots over to Bryce. “You coming?” she asks. “Protests uptown need meds on standby.”

“I have guests to show around.”

She turns to Zion and moves her helmet to the other arm, extending a hand to shake. “Paige Kincaid. Welcome to Atria.”

“Zion. Valkyries is a pretty cool team name.”

“Technically we’re Squad B4076, but most of the teams here give themselves a nickname. Eli is self conscious of it because he’s the only guy among the Valkyries. We call him our Kingsman.”

“For the record, I would be just fine having the same title as the rest of you,” he says. He keeps his arms folded, but Paige can see him going pale with embarrassment.

“It was nice to meet you, Zion! I promise we’re not all as stiff as these two,” she shouts, pointing to her teammates. “They’ll loosen up. They’re just following orders, which is something I don’t always like to do.”

Her helmet slips on and she disappears outside the building.

Adya and Reese stand beside one another, chatting with a handful of agents out on the sparring mat. From her belt, the latter produces a slender, silver bo staff and spins it around with beautiful ease. Nate unsheathes his batons for another agent to admire. He almost shocks himself with the end of it and both parties chuckle. Sat alone against the wall, Colby fiddles with one of the sniper rifles from the arms cabinet. Her eyes glow with childlike curiosity, as if she were a kid putting together a Lego set on Christmas morning.

Zion lets out a hearty laugh, the servos in his metal joints clicking as he crosses his arms. “I worry that we set the bar too high,” he mentions.

“With all due respect,” Eli says, “we were told to expect ‘the most elite operatives the ACA has to offer’.”

“And that’s what you got. Nate keeps morale high, even when everything seems to be going wrong. Adya can pick one successful strategy from a hundred unsuccessful ones, not to mention charge head-on into the line of fire with Reese and come out without a scratch. Colby can hit a moving target from a kilometer away. Just because we’re not really much for handshakes and salutes doesn’t mean we don’t do our job well.”

“And what about you?” Bryce asks. “What’s your thing?”

“I keep them humble.”

“I’ve read articles about your team’s accomplishments. I feel like it’s more than that.”

Zion looks back at the sparring mat and notices that it’s empty. His jacket slips off his shoulders, exposing the full glory of two elegant, combat-grade bionic arms attached to a broad set of shoulders. “Well, Agent Peters-- how about I show you instead of tell you?”