Joint Task Force-New York Headquarters: Newark Liberty International Airport November 22, 2018: 0600 It was a toasty twenty degrees outside, Michael thought as he ate breakfast in a food court near the gates. A layer of snow covered the ground and a brisk wind blew, blowing the American flag erected atop the control tower to and fro. He had just woken, and dressed in his gear, and followed the crowd and smell of food to the makeshift mess. He had gotten in last night, and learned that he was supposed to report to the JTF commander for a situation breifing. Other agents would be there, and they would be expected to work together. He had his standard issue equiptment and everything loaded out on his person. His Kriss lay against his chair in easy reach as he looked around the food court. The people awake were a mixed bag. The green camoflauge of the military and National Guard, various uniforms of police and fire, some civilians, a few other people who were probably Division agents. Agents were easier to spot, because of their unique equiptment. He remembered this airport well, having flown out of here on several occassions. Now it was the focal point of the effort to save New York. Generators "borrowed" (read stolen) from hardware stores around Newark powered the terminal's lights, cooking elements, and command and control. Unfortunately, no power to heat the place could be spared. The food courts remained food courts and gathering areas for the inhabitents. Gates and holding areas turned into living quarters. The few private rooms were command areas, where breifings could take place, and sensitive intelligence passed. The control tower was now a watchtower. The tarmac was full of civilian and military aircraft, fixed wing and rotary, it did not matter, it was full of activity. Helicopter blades kicked up small blizzards that dissappeared as the helicopter left. The dark skyline of New York could be seen in the distance, a few low clouds, and the dark plumes of smoke from isolated fires. Going to do something about that, he thought, moving his eyes back to the food court. His eyes mainly interrogated the other Division agents in the room. He wondered if they were going to be working together, and how they would do. He was comfortable working alone in the New York enviorment, but he would feel a little bit more secure working with backup, or at least other lone wolves in the area who could assist him. His eyes turned back to his bagel, the first to go before he started on a tray of eggs and bacon. As he ate, he listened to scuttlebutt from a table full of National Guard, presumably friends who had survived the events seperately but found themselves. From what he gathered, the Guard had been activated to do what the Guard does, help people. However, two days ago, when the power had gone out in Manhattan, they had lost control of the situation. They had been ordered not to fire upon those attacking them, and had lost more than a few good men. It made Michael wonder about what kind of ROE the Division was operating under, but he figured that would be a topic in the Agent Briefing.