"Warning, intruder detected. Manufacturing automated security forces." 

"Warning, data-storage corrupted. Seeking alternative manufacturing templates..." 

"- Ah, fuck." 

He awakens with disorienting suddenness. His instincts have him taking an active position, gripping the secondary controls of the mecha he's seated in. The displays fizz to live a split second later, and he sees that the mecha itself is situated in some kind of pod, opening with the hiss.

He reaches out to sync with the chassis.

'Where in Hell are we?' an illusory voice resonates through his head, in a way that his instincts find unsettling and unfamiliar. 'And who in Hell are you?'

The chassis synchronizes, but the feeling is strange. It's as if it was already synchronized and he's just inserted himself into it, but there's no one else he can feel through the chassis.

This is strange. This isn't how things are supposed to happen. But it's how things are happening.

He'll walk the mecha out of the pod, using the primary and secondary controls in tandem since this other presence in the chassis gives him doubt as to the primary's sufficiency.

Once he's outside, he quickly assesses the loadout and finds them to be...not as wrong as some of this situation, but provoking an instinctual irritation. The mecha is small, only about twice the dimensions of his body, and relatively lightly armed and armored, though at least with strong NBC defenses.

As he checks the various area scanners to develop a better sense of his immediate surroundings and find his way towards his current target, he'll spare some focus on forming the words in his mind and trying to put them into the chassis, reflecting the words appearing in his head a moment ago.

'I don't know. My designation is PS-X-EN000.'

He doesn't know it, but the residual consciousness stuck in his chassis couldn't override his controls anyway, not without some real wetware to back it up.

'Great, not only do I wake up without my body in some bombed out factory, but my body's been replaced with a damned clone. That designation's a mouthful even for me, and I don't have a mouth anymore!'

There's a pause, perhaps as this ghost processes the area scan as well, before it speaks further. 'You're Xeno now.'

He processes the statement for a while, absorbing the seeming authority it was spoken in, before radiating wordless acceptance.

Now, what's the situation?

Background radiation levels are high. Not dangerous in the short term, but potentially in the long run. No no intelligible signal or signature can be extracted from them. 

The radio is sending enemy coordinates to his hud via the expected protocols. 

Psychic senses detect screaming. Not any screaming in particular, just a general sense that the universe as a whole is in some kind of distant agony.

They are in a rectangular room which once contained neat rows of pods like the one he emerged from, as well as a single doorway opening onto some hallway. Striplights illuminate a space which has been left to accumulate detritus over the centuries. 

None of the other pods in the room appear to contain people. Most of them are obviously damaged beyond repair; one has opened to reveal a misshapen lump of flesh and metal the size of a horse, mercifully devoid of sentience. 

'God.... Well, at least that isn't us,' the voice says as their collective senses pass over the lump. He gets the impression that this mysterious ghost in his mecha has intuited that it could've been.

No squad, aside from this ghost if that counts. This doesn't map well to what his instincts tell to expect from a mission with these parameters, which prompts further irritation. This is not just an unfamiliar situation, or one that is wrong. It's a bad situation.

Nothing to do but get it over with. This looks like it'll be corridor fighting, so the mecha's smaller size at least makes some sense. He'll ready a manipulator to interface with doors or other mechanisms, and a short-range spreadgun for room-clearing, then walk them over to the room's solitary non-destructive exit and open it up, attempting to angle the mecha to the side of the door to minimize sight-lines in case there's no other obstructions between the door and the current enemy position.

The enemy position appears to be - trying to make some sort of last-ditch inputs to the computers mounted in a podium in the centre of a room full of equipment from a dozen eras roughly hacked together. 

The enemy appears to be a person in a bright orange space suit, complete with identity-concealing reflective glass dome. Several large crystals, all glowing a matching orange, are mounted on the exterior of the suit. 

The enemy is saying: "Wait, no, don't shoot, I can pay, what's your heart's desire-" 

'A spacesuit? The sensors say we're in atmo. I guess if he had one lying around...maybe we can ask him--'

The mission directive is simple. There is a computer terminal, potentially fragile, in the middle of the room however.

He swaps his manipulator out for a linegun while holding the spreadgun steady, and directs the ballistics calculator to prepare the linegun's shot.