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Virgil specifically has connections from the gloves to his helmet in which gives him a fake voice when he puts in certain tap patterns to the watch.

Alan has the most advanced suit being the youngest and last made

Specifically Gordon’s and Scott’s more finalised versions of their suits (pictured above) differ from the original suit designs when they went to avenge Virgil

Each helmet has a voice modulator

Helmets have a 'mask' design which spans across their eyes like a band. Mouth and some warpaint designs are still identifiable

Helmets when in the 'mask' have a green ‘target’ symbol over the right eye. This turns to red if one of the vital readings within their suit aren’t normal. Quick and efficient way for the other Tracy’s to know who’s down without outsiders knowing

Where any ‘IR’ branding would have sat upon helmets is their alias. E.g, Scott’s would read Turbo instead of IR.

Examples of the helmets and the mask feature

Dr. Ashton Lindsey had thought that their recent run-in with International Rescue was the turning point in this stupid expedition. But after another week of relentless cruising around the desert, morale was not improving. Thankfully, they’d be heading back to Basecamp Salaar in 48 hours, whether they had found the pyramid or not.

“Well, it was certainly nice to have a change of faces, wasn’t it!? They commented again as Wilson steered their terrible jeep up another sand dune. Meeting the Thunderbirds was all either of them had to talk about, having exhausted every other topic previously. And Lindsey specifically considered iR to be one of their special interests.

Wilson, however, was getting bored of the repeated topic of conversation. “I’m just as sick of you as you are of me, Lindsey. Don’t worry, we’ll be out of this desert soon.”

Feeling the vehicle rock with acceleration, Lindsey watched as the trailer behind them shuddered. “You’re going too fast, again!”

“Relax. Just keep your mind on navigation. We’re supposed to be looking for a pyramid, remember!?”

“Please slow down. Just a bit.”

“Quit whining, or you’ll get sand in your throat!” Wilson swerved along the ridge of a dune.

Behind them the trailer gave an almighty crack, and they both jerked forwards in their seats at the sudden loss of drag. Lindsey watched in horror as the trailer fell away down the steep sides of sand, rolling once-twice-three times before clattering to a stop.

That could have been them!

“You idiot!” They yelled at their partner. “I knew this would happen!”

“All our water is on that trailer!” Wilson was already getting out of the precariously parked jeep. “The solar cells and battery packs, too!”

Lindsey had only just got their door open when the trailer was engulfed by an explosion. Vaguely, the scientific part of their mind recognised the unfortunate combination of Saharan heat, abrasive sand, chemical batteries, and water. But Lindsey could only stare dumbly at the burning wreckage. Even the waves of heat rolling off the fire hardly registered against the oppressive desert heat.

“Wilson…” They tried. “It’s all gone. Everything. What are we gonna do?! We’re over 300 miles from Salaar!”

Lindsey watched as Wilson checked the few supplies they actually stored in the jeep itself. His face was grim. “And we’ve only got three half-used power packs left.”

“That’s not gonna get us 100 miles in this terrain, let alone 300!” They exclaimed as their throat began to close with anxiety.

“We need to contact Basecamp.” Wilson looked over at them expectantly, but Lindsey only felt more dread hit their stomach.

“I… put our transmitter in the trailer.”

“What did you do that for!?”

Lindsey couldn’t even look at the enraged expression on their colleague’s face. But that was when their gaze caught sight of a familiar-looking piece of technology sticking out of the dune only a few metres down. “Look! It’s the transmitter!”

They both rushed down to the long-range communicator that must have fallen out of the trailer before the explosion. The little box was intact, but something rattled when Wilson grabbed it.

“It’s taken a pounding.” He assessed. “But it might be okay… Wilson to Basecamp Salaar… Come in, Salaar… Do you read me?”

Nothing, not even a burst of static, came from the speaker. Even the communicators on their wrists had lost signal without the transmitter to lock onto a network for them. Lindsey flinched as Wilson smacked the side of the box. “Pile. Of. Junk!”

“Stop! Just – Let’s bring it back up to the jeep.”

“The sonic-wave compensators must be damaged. It’s not working.” Wilson concluded glumly.

“We have to get through somehow!” Lindsey encouraged, but could hear the desperation in their voice. “We’re gonna need water soon, or we’ll die!”

“Let me have a look at those maps before we both lose our heads. There might be something out there.”

Lindsey scoffed incredulously. “What, like sand? In every direction it’s just sand, sand, and more sand!”

“Like an oasis, Lindsey. I’m sure there was one around here somewhere.” Wilson snatched the old paper maps from the navigation packet Lindsey had compiled. They realised that as navigator, they really ought to know what was in the surrounding landscape, but it felt as though their mind had gone up with the trailer.