--✖-- Mission Tanha --✖-- Semi-lit+ --✖-- PRIVATE --✖--

[eden .]

αleх • ĸeυм
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eιɢнтeeɴ | ғeмαle | тαɴнα | cold reαdιɴɢ, eхтrαcтιoɴ, ιɴтerroɢαтιoɴ, recoɴɴαιѕѕαɴce

It was almost time to wake up.

Alex moaned a little as her alarm clock went off. She slammed it multiple times before the keys finally relented and the buzzing stopped. Alex rolled around in the covers for a moment, trying to go back to sleep, but she had been in bed since five o clock that morning; she wasn't tired anymore, incredibly. Sighing, Alex star up.

Alex always stayed up late. It was a terrible habit of hers. She was essentially nocturnal, awake at the most ungodly hours and sleeping when everyone else was working. It first developed because she had a string of jobs that made her stay out late a lot, but now she simply stayed up because she could. It was nice to have the place all to herself.

She had made sure she'd gone to sleep early last morning, though, because there was an important meeting that she couldn't miss. Something or other thing in that one place over there. Yeah, that sounded about right. Yawning, Alex slipped out of bed and glanced herself over. Sweatshirt. Shorts. There were some flip flops over there. Good enough. Alex shook her hair out and raked her fingers through it until it sat right [a freakish attribute of her hair was that it always went back into place] and shuffled out the door.

When she entered the meeting room, she found that no one else had arrived yet. She shrugged, taking a seat in the very back of the room. It was something that she had to do. She hated having her back exposed. She needed to see everything and not be seen. It was probably an assassin thing in general, but for Alex especially, such a strategy came from the need to analyze everything and everyone that came along.

As she sat down, the lights shut off. Alex could hear something whirring. Probably identifying her. Just as she thought it, her face and her stats came into the large screen at the front of the room. As quickly as it appeared, it vanished. The lights blinked back on and Alex leaned back against the chair--and wall behind her--and waited.

[Noel]

Skye Briht •
Tanha | Seventeen | Stealth/Evasion/Removal

Droplets of water sprayed against the wall as Skye's mass of hair shook, the boy having learned that a dog's method of drying was oddly effective. Shaking completely, he snatched a hair-tie off a nearby tabletop and forced his messy shoulder-length blond hair into a ponytail. Taking a quick glance in a mirror and looking pleased with the results, Skye turned to hurry out of the bathroom; if it was anything like his usual day, he was already late.

Instead his foot snagged on some object on the ground, and he smacked against the ground. Instinctively the girlish boy rolled into a defensive position, before realizing his 'attacker' was merely a discarded shoe. Skye gave a laugh, before kicking it under his bed. He really had to clean; there were food wrappers littering table tops, clothes in heaps on the ground, his dress from a rather interesting mission was strewn across a chair, and there were a few knives poking out of drawers, not to mention the pilfered objects of the other residents hiding underneath every possible surface. Just that previous night he had stolen someone's jacket and a pair of earrings, which were staring accusingly at him from the windowsill. Chewing on his lip, Skye snatched up those and a few objects near him, adding those to the under-the-bed pile. Deciding that was clean enough, he selected a candy from amongst the junk, and walked hurriedly out of the room, being careful to lock and latch the door behind him.

Chocolate bar in hand, Skye managed to shrug a coat on as he walked, faintly shivering. Inside they might be, but Russia could get awfully cold if one had wet hair. Holding his chocolate between his teeth, Skye made the meeting room door open. A quick glance around the room told him someone had already arrived. Observing the person for a moment further informed him that the person was female with unnatural hair color, the first trait making him choose a seat nearer to the front, as far to the left as he could.

Skye linked his hands behind his head, and waited for something interesting to happen.

[{{ f i a s c o }}]

☢ ☠ Thomas James Ribowski

The sun rose lazily above the plains, making vapour rise from the misty shrub, striking the grey building like knives on a throwing board. The yellowish sunlight softened the sharp complex's angles - making it seem more innocent - and brightening the dull grey colour to a livelier musty orange. Somewhere to the east of the block, a young man watched from a small window. He had nothing else to do, and watching the poetic scene seemed to calm the turmoil in his mind.

Tom watched the sunrise unfold silently. He was not one for sleep, only a few hours per day at most, so he had to keep himself occupied with extensive reading or simple practice at observing. This night, three had crept out of the fence at around 2:04, only two had returned, at about 5:07, with the first rays of light. Probably just a few employees escaping the military-like regime imposed on the centre to the nearest town, about 20 km from here. No car had been taken, so he supposed they'd just walked, or ran. A breeze if you were in shape, which they probably were. Sighing mildly at the lack of movement this night, Tom pivoted on his swivel chair and propelled himself with a foot towards his uncreased bed where his clothes lay neatly, ready for this morning, and the meeting to come.

It'd been a while since he'd gone on a mission. Four months or so. He just supposed they'd lost track of the enemy, so he kept quiet and asked no questions, keeping to himself and continuing with his training program every day. Therefore, he was surprised when he received the note yesterday.

Tom continued to ponder the situation whilst he pulled on a fresh layer of clothing, a frown deepening in his brow. Once finished, he moved silently to the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water. Even though he technically hadn't slept and therefore did not look sleepy, he needed to be sharp. He became careless when he wasn't, and he didn't want to give that impression. Combing his hair and brushing his teeth, he soon slithered out of the shuttered dark room - except for the small slit in the east window, closing the door with a small click behind him.

The corridors had become pathways he could tread with his eyes closed, and so he did, pausing at each intersection with a held breath to listen if anyone approached. No-one ever ventured into the control area, so he was, for a couple of minutes, completely alone. As he reached the room, he opened his eyes, focused, and, almost silently, opened the door. The two others were already there, and sat down, waiting for the general to announce instructions. Not even clearing his throat, he made his way to the middle, snapping his left finger, followed compulsively by his right. He grimaced. It seemed he'd never get rid of that one. With a wince, he sat down in the ugly plastic chairs, and looked around. Two tense agents, a female and male, with clenched jaws and looks. Huh. They must be new to this if they're so nervous. With a small shrug, he looked forward again, waiting for instructions.

[Artesian]

John Markov

--x--

On/Off the Job

Nineteen: Male
Blackstar: Medical
On base
With:

He'd had a nightmare last night... or someone had. It was fuzzy in his memory, just an uncomfortable feeling in the back of his mind as he awoke far too early. Screams, blood, sutures, and failure. Who knows which flashback that had been, he had too many painful memories to keep track of. He sat up, turning on the light beside his bed. It wasn't worth going back to sleep now, as much as he'd like to flip over the pillow, groan and snuggle back into his warm bed. Mark swung his feet out and padded into the kitchen in his bare feet.

It was quiet in here, too quiet. He missed the dormitories Blackstar had him sleep in when he was younger, when someone seemed to be awake at all hours to soothe him back to sleep. He groaned, opened the fridge and poured himself a bowl of fruity pebbles and milk. Flopping down on the couch to eat, he turned on the TV, scrolling through channels to something pleasant. Reruns of M.A.S.H., ones he'd seen. At least it drowned out the too loud ticking of the clock and the whir of the fridge.

He fell asleep in the chair in a fitful doze, the empty cereal bowl still in his lap.

...

He woke with a scream, choked off. Adrenaline thudded through his veins as he fought his way to wakefulness, shuddering. A few deep breaths later, and he was composed again. Peculiar, that simple events such as the death of an enemy could affect him so.

He didn't want to sleep anymore. John never slept in anyway. It wasn't in his nature: every moment he rested unnecessarily was a wasted moment that could be spent working to save his fellow assassin's lives. One more moment that could be used to make it possible for them to complete their mission.

If John saw the hypocrisy of this (working to save lives so they could end lives), he never showed signs of it. This morning, after rising at five without an alarm clock, he read through the latest medical journals, focusing in particular on an interesting article on the uses of a new stimulant in trauma surgeries. Then, after several hours of study and drill, forcing all the facts of the new information into his brain, he took a break for a complete breakfast.

His small flat was messy today; John clicked his tongue with irritation. He couldn't afford the time to clean it up. How had it gotten so messy anyway? Oh, that's right, he'd done it. He opened the fridge, selected a few eggs and slices of bacon to fry up and methodically cooked them, staring at the backsplash of the stove as the bacon crackled.

After his breakfast, he checked his watch. It was time for the next assignment briefing, which should be interesting. With a quick check at his appearance - short (but that couldn't be helped), scruffy haired (that could), and (tisk) slipper-footed, he tided himself up with the same care and kindness that a mortican might lend someone on the slab.

Closing the door behind him, he strode down the hallways to the briefing room, the turns as familiar to his feet as basic care for a sprained ankle. He let himself in, with a small smile at anyone watching the door, and sat down at his accustomed seat. "Good morning," he stated, with an ounce of good feeling in his voice.

[Smamm]

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-➸

тαɴнα coмpυтer

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"Как вы, наверное, всем известно, вы в настоящее время назначены новые отряды за год. Вы и ваша команда будет сотрудничать в более крупных и сложных миссий, чем вы можете справиться самостоятельно. Вы три для защиты как секретный документ, и владелец особняка русский принадлежащих Петр Васильевич. Мы считаем, BlackStar собрал Intel документа, и будет планировать, чтобы извлечь его, а также убить Петра в гостях он проводит сегодня вечером. Ваша цель состоит, чтобы охранять документа, а также Петр из убийц BlackStar посылает дюйма."

"После этой встречи закрыта, все будет отправиться на взлетно-посадочной полосе, где ваш самолет ждет, чтобы отправиться в Москву. Вы все можете обсудить свой ​​план действий там. Вся одежда необходимых для партии будет загружен на плоскость для каждого из вас, чтобы переодеться в, как партия является формальным событием. Теперь, вы все уволены за струей."

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((Because I'm not a total jerk, I'll provide the translation; I realized online translators don't always do the best job of translating accurately.))

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"As you are probably all aware, you are being assigned new squads for the year. You and your squad will be collaborating in larger, more complex missions than you can handle on your own. You three are to protect both a classified document and the owner of the Russian mansion belonging to Piotr Vasilevich. We believe BlackStar has gathered intel of the document, and will be planning to retrieve it as well as kill Piotr at a party he is hosting tonight. Your goal is to guard the document as well as Piotr from the assasins BlackStar is sending in."

"After this meeting is closed, you all will be leaving for the airstrip, where your jet awaits to depart for Moscow. You can all discuss your plan of action there. All clothes necessary for the party will be loaded onto the plane for each of you to change into, as the party is a formal event. Now, you are all dismissed for the jet."

outfit
post format © C6H12O6

[{{ f i a s c o }}]

☢ ☠ Thomas James Ribowski

The lights dimmed, and Tom leant back into his chair to listen the the computer's announcement. He expected some kind of attack, strife involved, and he was wondering what he'd be assigned, seeing as he wasn't the most apt or prepared for fighting. He knew not of the others, seeing as it was the first time he'd seen their faces, and wondered what was to be their assignment this fine morning.

Instead, he was surprised to hear they'd be acting as personal bodyguards for some corrupt millionaire and a document that was held at his house at a party they were hosting. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, wondering how he was meant to fit into the mixture. His strengths lay in stealth and gadgetry - not escorting rich men in suits around a house. Maybe he was expected to rig cameras and security chips on important guests? He wasn't entirely sure of his purpose, and this caused him wild frustration.

Since when had Tanha started taking comissions from rich entrepeneurs that feared - in a somewhat paranoid fashion - to be abducted by american agents that searched to steal a contract of some sort of another? Last time he'd checked, they were trained assassins that searched to destroy another one that was a threat to them. Since when had they become paid-by-the-hour bodyguards?

The thought made him clench his jaw in cold anger, but he kept it to himself. This agency had given him all, and he wasn't about to step out on them. However shady their ideas and however hidden their true objectives were, he was there to operate, to pay back what they had given him. Life, an opportunity, what many failed to have. If there was anything Tom hated, it was being in debt to someone, but he wasn't about to stop being loyal to the organisation. They'd find them, and they'd kill him; they wouldn't risk him join the other side. Oh no, Tanha was smart. They had him all tangled up so it was impossible to escape.

With a small grimace, realising the conference had ended, he stood up with the scrape of the chair, looking to and from the partners he had been assigned. Well, this is awkward. I don't even know their names. Clearing his throat, he nodded at them both, passing his gaze lightly over the two figures, stretching and feigning nochalance when his nerves were completely on edge, and was about to present himself before stopping, closing his open mouth abruptly. Grimacing, he signaled the pair that he'd wait in the jet. Something, some paranoid feeling of his made him move the strategy planning and introductions to the plane.

Again, as if guided by some invisible hand, he made his way in silence to his room, picking up his laptop to begin brainstorming apparatus he might need to order from the arsenal of weapons that would need to arrive upon their landing in the capital. They couldn't use anything to obvious - guns and firearms would prove too loud and bulky, too obvious and would provoke a scandal for the press, which was undoubtedly out of the question. Knives, poison perhaps. There were subtler ways, and he knew more of them every day. After encasing it into it's protective shoulder-bag, he made his way to the small jet that was waiting for them.

Curious about the clothes they were meant to wear, he made his way to the seats where neat piles of clothes were stacked for each one of them. He unfolded them, and he couldn't help but let a chuckle escape his thin lips. He thought this was formal, but he supposed the agency had other plans.

Quickly, before the others arrived, he rearranged the mobile seats to form a triangle where they would be able to confer and plan. He plunked down in the one to the left, and awaited the rest.

Shouldn't they all be wearing tuxedos if it were a formal event? //jamesbondobsessionmuch
Also, I wasn't aware you could write/speak/knew russian, Smamm o.o

[Noel]

Skye Briht •
Tanha | Seventeen | Stealth/Evasion/Removal

Listening without a word to the message the computer read to them, Skye couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in confusion. He had taken a look at the other two in the room; they were not the fighting group. He was a thief, not a bodyguard. The other boy didn't have the layers of muscle that the fighting specialists had, nor did the blue haired girl. Why were they being assigned to protect a document and a human? A Blackstar agent or two who had lived their life learning to kill people with their bare hands would knock them down like toothpicks.

Seeing the other male, who's name was beyond Skye leave, he shortly followed. He didn't want to stick around in the room with a girl. He already had most of the items he suspected he would need or want -as always his lockpicking tools were strapped to his waist by a band underneath his shirt, and there were a few knives against his upper leg- that he wouldn't be able to easily grab off the plane. There would be guns aplenty there, though the noise would be risky...

In the end Skye just stuffed a few extra objects into a bag, threw it over his shoulder, and headed to the miniature jet. To his relief, the blue haired female had yet to make an appearance. He saw the piles of clothes in the corner, and decided to grab his out of it later. There was probably a dress for him in there somewhere -Skye had learned that female's formal clothes were much less constricting then male's, and he easily pull off going as a girl- to get on when they were a bit closer.

Analysis done, Skye dropped into a second of the three chairs. "So. Introductions. I'm Skye. A burglary specialist with no idea why I'm in this mission and isn't very sure what to do about it. You?"

[eden .]

αleх • ĸeυм
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eιɢнтeeɴ | ғeмαle | тαɴнα | cold reαdιɴɢ, eхтrαcтιoɴ, ιɴтerroɢαтιoɴ, recoɴɴαιѕѕαɴce

This is bllsht was Alex's first thought when the announcement had finished and the lights came back on. She wasn't a bodyguard. And, by the looks of the other two, neither were they. The other one looked like a girl for God's sake. She glowered as she heard the other two leave, making her the last to exit the room. They hadn't bothered to introduce themselves or tell their specialties, so she couldn't tell for sure, but unless one of them was seriously under the radar, none of them would stand up to a fighting specialist. They were totally dead for a fking rich -ss who couldn't be bothered to keep his own stuff safe.

It would be so much easier if they didn't have to worry about the Piotr guy! Alex bit her bottom lip in frustration. It would be so much easier, in fact. Her speciality was gathering information, for Christ's sakes. She could be in and out of there no problem. One of the guys better had be a whiz at strategy or they were going to get their -sses handed to them. Alex hated to lose.

With a huff, Alex finally exited. The room shut off its own lights with a clang as she did. She deftly began to go down towards the jet, running her thumb over the little scars all over her fingers anxiously.

When she got to the plane, she heard Girl introduce himself and his specialty.

"Alexandra," she announced herself. She ignored the seat and went to the clothes. She loudly groaned. "They're making me wear a fking dress the bstrds!" Snarling, Alex flung herself onto the remaining seat and said, "Recon, info extraction, torture. Not necessarily in that order," she added with a wry smile. With a shudder, she felt the jet begin to move down the runway.

"Is it too much to hope you're Bruce Lee in disguise?" Alex asked the remaining boy sardonically.

[- serendipity]

ＴＡＬＬＵＬＡＨ ＫＹＬＩＥ ＧＲＥＹ
{ tally } - { eighteen } - { single / no crush } - { BlackStar } - { extraction, distraction & disguise }

The girl's forehead rested against the window, the cool glass meaning her head was about two degrees below the rest of her body temperature. Tallulah watched the raindrops fall down the window, tracking their paths before they pooled at the bottom, spreading out. Her eyes fluttered shut and then she opened them again, the darkness when she closed her eyes too boring for her. At least through the window Tally was able to watch as the wind buffeted around the branches on the far off trees and the small, blurred figures of those running around to get out of the rain. There weren't many - most were still asleep or not brave enough to venture outside to even attempt getting to another part of the building - but still enough to keep her vaguely entertained. After a while she heard the muffled sound of her alarm clock going off and she unwrapped her arms from around her knees, pushing herself off the window sill and landing silently. She stretched her legs and then pulled the curtains shut behind her.

Walking through the darkness of her apartment she made her way to her bedroom and stopped the alarm. Watching the clock face flash she noted it was 6:32 which meant she didn't need to rush in her getting ready. Flicking on the light she scanned the room - checking she was definitely alone - and then opened her wardrobe. She decided she'd have to wear something smart and casual, because that was what the mission room required. She chose some dark skinny jeans and a beatles t-shirt in the end, muttering a "screw smart" as she did so. Throwing the clothes onto the bed she made her way to the bathroom and quickly stripped before stepping over the bath's edge and turning on the shower. Five minutes later she stepped out and wrapped a towel around her body. Drying her feet she then walked quickly through to her bedroom, kicking the door shut with her foot. Drying herself, throwing on her clothes and then making sure her hair wasn't tangled by running the brush through it steadily, before applying a small amount of make up. Tallulah checked herself over in the mirror and then walked through to the kitchen, opening the fridge and eyeing the contents. There was a reasonable amount of food in there but the brunette chose instead to shut the door and pour herself a bowl cereal. As she ate, her mind drifted from her recent, sleepless nights to the possibilities of the mission ahead.

At 6:40 she rinsed her bowl and then made a hot chocolate for herself, pouring the steaming liquid into a travel mug and taking a sip. Her tongue burning she opened the door and walked out, pulling it shut quietly behind her. Tally hadn't bothered to lock it because the dead bolt was on the otherside and if someone wanted to get in, they would anyway so why bother locking it in the first place? Everyone at BlackStar knew how to pick a lock and if a rival organisation somehow infiltrated it, they would surely know how to do it as well. The halls were empty as the girl turned several corners and walked down the long corridors before stepping into the lobby and walking through the much more open space. The mission room lay one more turn from this and when she reached the door the girl stood still, holding her eye slightly away from the scanner. A red light scanned her eye and after confirming that she was applicable to enter, the doors whirred slightly and then opened. Personally, Tallulah hated the wretched eye scanner but she knew it was mandatory and needed so she never complained. Her hate for it wasn't exactly prominent enough to do so.

From the door way she could see she was the last one to arrive. Guilt encroached on her but the agent pushed it away, stepping forwards and hearing the doors whir shut behind her. The four others in the room were familiar to her and she noted how Bentley and Mark sat alone whilst Lidia and Gabrielle sat next to each other. She wasn't exactly very visible so Tally took the chance before she really stepped into the light of the room to roll her eyes at the four. Maybe they weren't not sitting next to each other out of embarassment or something similar but the four would be working together in the next mission so they may as well start sitting next to each other. Stepping forwards though the girl decided that being a hypocrite was probably the best choice here. She'd have liked to have sat next to all of the people but as they were seperated that wasn't going to happen. So she smiled at Bentley and lifted a hand in greeting to the girls and Mark, taking a seat two behind the blonde boy and having another sip of her hot chocolate.

As she sat, the room darkened and the screen flashed on. Five identity cards were shown and Tally quickly found her own. Once she had done so the screen shut off and the brunette presumed the other cards belonged to the agents seated around her. No comment escaped her lips, instead the girl just sat back in her seat, crossing her arms and resting the base of her hot chocolate in the crook of her right elbow. Hopefully the debriefing would start soon, otherwise a whole lot of awkwardness (in Tallulah's opinion anyway) would ensue in the wait. The agents may have been experts in killing a man but not all were apt in socialising.

[Smamm]

i'm a nightmare, a disaster
t h a t s w h a t t h e y a l w a y s s a i d : i m a l o s t c a u s e , n o t a h e r o
but i'll make it on my own

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вeɴтley lαyтoɴ | мαle | 18 |ѕιɴɢle [ɴo crυѕн] | нαɴd-тo-нαɴd coмвαт
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As the mission room door opened, the boy turned to glance at the second to arrive. A familiar face; Lidia Vanderbilt. Ironic that they would be placed on the same squad, but yet again, not so ironic. The boy had grown up training with that little blonde pain in his neck, and not until his basic training was complete was her finally rid of her. He watched as she took her seat without greeting before he turned his attention to the sour green apple in his palm. With the first bite, a loud smack filled the air. He loved the crack it made as he bit into it, and did all in his power to make it as loud as possible. He silently hoped it would annoy the girl; he needed something to get him going this morning, and nothing better than getting under someone's skin.

By the time the assassin had finished his snack, the last of the group had finally arrived and taken their seat. Bentley straightened himself and tossed the core through the air and into the waste basket tucked away in a corner across the room. His deep azure eyes glanced at the other three faces that had arrives, recognizing each briefly. There was Gabrielle Ford, the women's rights activist who was quite easy to annoy with a feminine degrading comment, among Tallulah Grey and some wierdo who liked to be referred to as Doctor John Markov. He didn't really know much about either, but it wouldn't be too difficult to find out. ’How did I get stuck with these people…’ Bent whined inwardly. Satisfied with his remark, the assassin slumped back into his chair, twining his fingers behind his head. With a relaxed sigh, Bentley pushed his hands up, adjusting his snapback over his eyes. At this rate he may as well catch a wink of sleep. It wasn't long before he had to adjust his hat again to peek at the screen before them as the computer began her speal for the day.

The screen was alight with five white identification cards on a dark blue background. Each card held all the information you could ask to know about each assassin, or at least all you needed to know. Private records were never revealed in these sorts of things, just the basics you needed to know in order to successfully understand the assassin. His card was on top. A picture of his face was toward the left side of the small white rectangle, and was the most visible portion. To the right and below was writing too small to be read at the size it was. As his near-sapphire eyes wandered down the row of cards, picking out each of the other four assassins; their faces to the left and information taking up the rest of the space just the same as his card.

Welcome students! Glad to see you all could make it. As you are probably all aware, you are being assigned a new squad for the year. Just like the last we will begin by introducing each assassin to your squad by reading off your identification cards. Your squad will be collaborating in larger, more complex missions than you can tackle on your own, despite the popular belief amongst yourselves. In order to make sure things go smoothly this first time, you will be assigned a simpler mission in order to get the feel for working with your team mates. That will be explained after introductions. Now, allow us to introduce you all…

The computer then began reading off each identification card, after enlarging each so that you could read along (as well as see the assassin's profile more clearly). Information was read off, such as name, gender, eye and hair colors, height, weight, specialties, and weapon of choice.

Now that you are all familiar with one another, we can move on to your mission. You five are to retrieve a classified document from the Russian mansion belonging to Piotr Vasilevich. Piotr is believed to be in possession of a very valuable document labeled UMBRA. I would tell you more about it, but it is strictly confidential. Your goal is to retrieve the document and return it to me. There is a party Piotr is hosting tomorrow night, which with the time difference will be a few hours off from your arrival. After this meeting is closed, you all will be leaving for the airstrip, where your private jet awaits to depart for Moscow. I will be sending all information regarding the mission and where we believe the file to be located to you there. As you travel, you will all be developing your plan of action for the coming night. All clothes necessary for the party will be loaded onto the plane for each of you to change into, as the party is a formal event.

Now, are there any questions, or shall you be dismissed for the jet?

It all was a lot to take in at once, but not for Bentley; nor an assassin in general. He had successfully absorbed all of the information, processed it, and stored it. Having no further questions, the boy straightened up and lifted himself from the chair. If anyone else was asking any questions, the boy didn’t need to hear them, and he wasn’t going to be held back by someone moving too slow for his own pace. He marched quietly outside of the mission room, and made his way to the elevator across the Lobby, opposite of the mission room. He pressed the down arrow, waiting for the doors to part so he could depart into the garage. There, there would likely be the popular choice of a GMC XL Yukon Denali that would take the five of them to the airstrip, where their jet would surely be waiting patiently.

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tagged: - - -
location: mission room // basement
outfit: click here