 revealing a tinge of skepticism at Taylor Cruz's authoritarian performance. _Protocols_, Jordan thought, _are just the framework, the true challenges we're about to face lie well beyond the boundaries of any protocol._ They cleared their throat before speaking, tone cautious yet firm, "Let's remember, the unknown variables exceed the known. We should remain adaptive."

A murmur of agreement echoed from Sam Rivera, who leaned forward, lacing their fingers together as if weaving a digital framework in the air before them, "Exactly, adaptability could be the key to interpreting the signal distortions and system malfunctions. We shouldn't discount the… erratic."

Their words hung like an electric charge in the room, challenging Taylor's position with an inherent truth. Cruz’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but the agent masked it with a small nod, conceding to the omnipresent threat of the unpredictable. 

Alex glanced at Jordan, who never looked back, their gaze fixed instead on a distant point, as if envisioning the immense dark corridors they were soon to navigate in Dulce. Jordan was not one to embrace fantastical theories, but the air of cautious calculation betrayed a mind bracing for confrontation with the inexplicable, an internal battle between the evidence of their research and the calculating skepticism that kept them alive in their field.

The meeting adjourned with no further comments, the team members quietly retreading the paths to their personal preparations. Alex, trailing slightly behind, observed the others. _The cautious reserve Jordan wears like armor doesn't fool me_, he thought, _their analytical mind sees the patterns I do. And that's worth more than protocol. That's the connection we need to survive this._

As the agents dispersed into the labyrinth of the facility, lost in their thoughts and preparations, the base's halogen lights flickered, a brief and unnoticed harbingers of the darkness to come. 

\*

The gritty, wind-tossed surface of New Mexico, just above the cavernous domain of Dulce Base, offered no shelter from the burgeoning storm—the scouring sands an earthly reminder of chaos theories in motion. Far beneath, a similar maelstrom brewed within the confines of the command center, as Paranormal Military Squad's handpicked squad stood poised for potential enormities of contact.

Ruffling through printed transmission logs, Jordan Hayes dialed the focus of their analytical prowess onto the emerging pattern of signals crisscrossing between Earth and the unfathomable. "Our responses so far have echoed their complexity, but the real divergence is yet to come," Jordan remarked stoically, the calm belying the mounting surge of adrenaline for the revelation ahead.

Alex Mercer's figure, a silhouette sharpened by the purpose, loomed at the periphery of the monitors' sickly glow. "Indeed," he assented, "The echoes are the easy part. It will be the introduction of our own, human variable that truly begins our dialogue."

Taylor Cruz,