Light glinted off of the massive panes of glass that formed the walls of this rather large white building. However, a rather strange feature was included, standing hidden away from the rest of the surroundings. It was a lone green military-grade jeep. It looked peaceful, lonely, and menacing all at the same time. For anyone who knew what it truly was, knew that this vehicle carried three members of America’s highly daring special operations force. Although, those who weren’t that informed, just saw the solitaire green shell, and thought it was just someone’s tricked out ride. Tricked out ride was for sure. This thing was packing four low-grade ACS-11 SAM missiles, which lay attached to a rack on the rear of the jeep. Muddy footprints stretched from the driver’s side of the jeep, all the way to two black combat boots that were standing inside a small room within the Exposition Center. These muddy combat boots belonged to Beach Head who stood with his rifle slung over his shoulder and his eyes scanning the street through the large glass panes before him.

“Beach Head, what are you expecting? You don’t really think those damn snakes will hit here, do ‘ya?” the gray-clad soldier said from behind Beach Head. Low Light held his red goggles in his right hand and brushed his sandy blonde hair with his left.

“I don’t know, Low Light. I just don’t know right now. This is all to off for me. The tracking scans showed that they were moving to this location, but hell…they’re not here, now are they—“ he began, but was quickly and violently cut-off from a large explosion that blew the windows inward, paltering the four Joes with glass and small pieces of stone.

“Where did that come from?” newly named recruit, Alec, shouted. But it became glaringly obvious when through the broken in windows and broken rubble of concrete, came the ominous cry, “Cobra!”

Beach Head raised his rifle from its sling, and brought it to his shoulder. He planted the butt of the sub-machine gun as quickly as he possibly could firmly against his shoulder. But then he saw nothing. And all four of them saw nothing. Nor heard anything.

“Okay. Where’d they go?” Sgt. Slaughter commented as he gazed down the barrel of his M-16A2.

Moreover, it once again became obvious, when three lines dropped through broken sky lights in the ceiling. Immediately, three figures raced down these zip lines, weapons raised. They all wore the same uniform, and a strange uniform it was at that. The three men in subject were completely dressed in black with a blood red diamond pattern etched all over their legs, torso, and mask. The waist of their pants was gold, as well as their boots and shoulders, along with some gold outlining on their chest and a pistol that was holstered on their right hips.

“You believe they exist now?” Beach Head yelled at Alec, who quickly replied in a nod, and raised his rifle to fire.

“Who are these guys?” Alec asked as he let loose a barrage of bullets.

“Look at the markings! Python Patrol!” Low Light yelled.

Through the glass behind them, approached even more of them. Different uniforms this time, though. Some were TARGATs as well as several Python Close Ordinance Mobile Ballistic Assault Troopers, who poured in from everywhere, guns raised.

“Freeze Joes! Don’t move!” one of the COMBATs shouted with this rifle raised to Beach Head’s back.