"Three more men were found dead yesterday in White Fang territory-"



"Boring." Robin sighed as he flipped through the news channels in the briefing room of the Cerberus HQ. Well, they called it a HQ. It was a rather grandiose term for an apartment building converted into a secret central facility running all Butei operations on this side of the country. They wanted to be low profile, and stay away from public eye. So naturally it wouldn't be suspicious if the same people kept returning to the apartment block. Everyone would just assume they were residents.

"well, that is the state of affairs in Arkhan, which was why we called you in to lead Division Six." John Fury, the agent responsible for their assignments, spoke as he entered the room. He glared briefly at the personnel files Robin had in front of him. "I see you've already helped yourself to the files."

"You rely on technology too much. Cerberus security maybe state of the art, but all I had to do was pretend to be a new girl carrying a large pile of documents into the archives and the guards practically opened the door for me. Didn't even bother checking my ID." Robin slid the files across the table, returning them to the agent.

John only sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, a classic sign of exasperation from the man. "Well, now that you know who's going to be on your team, what do you think?"

"I think you're piling dynamite on top of a gas tank." Robin replied frankly, standing up and gathering his things. "Given that we're being assigned to Arkhan, I can see why our orders are so... extreme."

"It's why we picked the best Butei we had. Division Six will be-"

"Your suicide squad, Mr Fury. That's what we'll be. I've already heard a few people calling us by that nickname."

---

Remembering the conversation alone was giving Robin a headache. He had a pretty good memory, practically photographic, but he still couldn't see how Division Six was going to pull off their job. Most of them had a screw loose, or else didn't play well with others. He really didn't see how they were going to work as a team, much less achieve their objective. He just had to hope Cerberus training instilled some modicum of professionalism in each of them.

The bus he was riding on came to a stop, arriving at its destination. They had been given orders to make their own way down to Arkhan using whatever transport they could find, since Cerberus didn't want to advertise that they were sending agents into a city owned by criminals. That was practically painting a huge "Shoot me" sign on their backs. Well, it suited Robin just fine, the quiet entry into the city. He just hoped that the other members of his team could do the same. He knew some of them, if not from rumours at the Academy, then from firsthand experience. Some of them were about as quiet as a horde of wildebeest in a stampede.

He fished out the encrypted mobile phone they were all given, and sent a message back to HQ announcing his arrival at the city, and that he was on the way to meet his contact. They had sent him in earlier because he was a Lezzad, and the team leader. So his first assignment in Arkhan was to secure a living space for the squad. The only problem with that was that there weren't many places not owned by crime families or overrun by junkies and gangsters.

So, obviously, they were going to ask the mob to let them stay.

---

"I heard you're very good at making people disappear. I've also heard you're expensive. Tell me, why should I hire you when I could just send my boys out to get the job done?"

"You want to clear out this bunch of small timers off your turf, I need a favour. I think we can help each other." Robin was speaking in disguise, this time as a middle-aged German man. His accent was thick and he looked a lot more intimidating than he usually did, but one didn't become a Lezzad by being a bad liar. He was speaking to Don Falcone, who led one of the largest crime families in the city. It had taken an hour to find out from some fences that there was a small but well-armed gang looking to expand their territory in Arkhan. Also that the Falcone family wanted them eliminated.

"A favour from me."

"Well, sort of." Robin took out his smartphone, and flashed a picture of a building. "This the warehouse they use to store weapons and house their enforcers. I'll be in this city for some time while I take care of... business. I could put this to good use. I'll consider this payment for this one job."

---

After a lot of posturing and careful talk, Robin was waltzing out on to the street, with a promise from the Don that he would be allowed to keep the warehouse. So they had a place to stay, now all they had to do was clear out the residents. He figured his new team would appreciate the chance to rear up for a fight, so he sent a message to all of them, confirming their meeting place.

Sixth Avenue Starbucks, 10P.M.

"Give the man some credit. LeBron's been playing since I was a preschooler; everyone's got to retire some day. You want to be doing this in seventeen years?"

Hanging from the wooden rafters of the bustling little bar, a ceiling fan under significant duress from the crowd creaked its agreement.

"I would rather be doing this than the alternative," Khabif Stroganoff said with his typically blunted edge. Everything about the Russian was blunt - a heavy forehead and an anvil of a jaw that left his face looking like something that could bust through anything short of metal, massive knuckles and heavy muscles that could choke out a gazelle, and a thick Russian accent that left every jab - even the affectionate ones - sounding gruff and heavy. It was easy to see why he and Sloan worked so well in tandem; classical yin and yang, whatever one didn't have covered, the other would match for. Together, they were near unstoppable.

Only issue was, Sloan's Bloodline and Dagula scores had left him a natural fit for Division Six. Beef, God bless him, was more fitted to general Assault. The feeling of acclimating to a new team - finding a new Beef - was something that had even the notoriously people pleasing Sloan Negasi on his toes.

"A true champion is dethroned. He does not quit, or he is no champion at all," Beef continued, oblivious to his friend's inner turmoil. "LeBron has years in him, a good four or five years. Who was the champion before we were born? Your famous American, Chicago Bull--"

"Jordan," Sloan Negasi corrected helpfully. "He played for the Chicago Bulls." Teaching Beef the fundamentals and nuances of basketball, the interrogator opined, could have gone much better than it ended up being. "And even if he didn't quit, his body did."

"Ahh, well. We are all men, flesh and bone and muscle to be conditioned and maintained," Beef said sagely, chewing on the frayed brown edges of his leather wallet as he stared down at the pot. "Yes, pretty boy, muscles. I know they're sparse on you, but in Assault we learn to hone them every day. You may have noticed them in your fancy anatomy textbooks."

"Yeah, sure. Dagula are trained to notice things." Sloan smirked and gestured with his hand of cards to Beef's sleeve. "Like that ace you've been hiding up your sleeve since you told me to check my ESPN app. Don't need no encyclopedia to know the oldest trick in the book."

"Bah. I did no such thing." Khabif had, of course, done such a thing. Poker games between the two were always underhanded and dirty affairs, prone to attempts at distraction, espionage, and even four cumulative cases of outright sabotage. If either of the two friends were naive enough to believe that the circumstances surrounding their final bout would force them to play honorably, the other would have proved them wrong. The past two hours had been rife with hidden cards, stacked decks, childish "Look behind yous!" and even, in Sloan's case, a near-successful attempt at hiding two one hundred dollar chips on the roof of his mouth. They'd fallen out when he laughed after his first flush; no Bloodline could have explained it away.

Sloan was about to retort when his phone made the fateful buzz the two Butei had spent the entire game anticipating. With a wary look up at the Russian bruiser, Sloan reached for his phone and opened the message.

Sixth Avenue Starbucks, 10P.M.

"That the call?"

"That's the call. See you on the other side."

"You're going now? And here I thought you weren't going to leave without getting the bartender's number."

"I thought charming her was your job for once. It's 1:30 now. As it is, I'm cutting it close with the train station. I should go." Sloan stood up and scooped the final pot up into a fat wad of money, slapping Beef's iron pectorals with it. "Thanks for covering the ticket, buddy. Assalamu alaikum."

The two Butei stood awkwardly for a second before wrapping their arms around each other in a tight hug.

"Wa alaikum assalaam, Negasi," Beef said hoarsely. "Stay safe out there. Give me a reason to make a return trip."

Sloan smiled grimly and smacked his friend's chest with the money again.

"Believe me, I've read up on this place. I don't think you're gonna want one."

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ah, Starbucks. Back in the day, you couldn't wiggle away from the warm embrace of Venice Beach without it. Back in the day when Sloan's biggest worry was finishing the 8th grade without enough demerits to bury him alive, and whether he and Jenna Masters would break up before the night of formal. You would have to be insane not to miss that on some days. Others...

"--mygod, babe, you wouldn't believe it. I'm gonna kill myself cramming like this. Next semester I'll make a change, I promise," Sloan swore, walking around in a circle for the fifth and final time outside the Starbucks. If Beef's voicemail box had any objections to being the dummy call to set Sloan up as a graduate student, or if he had anything smart to say about being called babe, the answering machine left them unvoiced. "Matter of fact...I might kill myself standing out here. Not a good place to be. I'm just gonna get some Starbucks like I mentioned earlier and head back to the apartment. I'll get you something cold. I know you like it cold - caramel? Yeah. Yeah. Bye!"

Hanging up the phone, Sloan casually carried himself into Starbucks and inserted himself into the near-empty line. Vanilla bean, make it heavy on the whipped cream, he rehearsed mentally. Yeah, sorry, I forgot - venti's fine. And--are those scones?

Sloan hadn't had a scone since he left California.

Mmm. Scones...

Victor sipped the sweetened coffee from his corner of the shop, flipping through a book that he was clearly not reading. Something about zodiac signs and sexual compatibility. Luck had it that he was in the area already when the text came out, so it wasn't a long walk before arriving. He was currently skimming a chapter about the erotic energy of massage and buttocks. The young man was impeccably dressed as always, a sleek black suit with a bold red tie and undershirt. Highly polished shoes tapped the floor gently as his blue eyes flicked over the rims of his glasses, a smile hovering on his lips. He swept one hand through his hair before taking another sip of his incredibly sweet drink, a frappuccino or something like that. The barista had almost had a fit trying not to laugh at him trying to pronounce it with his thick accent. He could speak five languages, four of them fluently, but sometimes, words just hated his heritage. Another sip of the drink. He never was much of a coffee fan, but he never had a taste for tea. This ultra sweet drink was proving quite addictive however. His blue eyes flicked again to the patrons of the shop. Civilian. Criminal. Criminal. Civilian. A trained eye hit everyone and placed their affiliation. The German had specifically chosen his spot so he wouldn't be visible through the windows, and still have a fairly unobstructed view of those entering the cafe. His view was consistently disrupted by throngs of beanie wearing teenagers pushing past, however. He was hogging a rather large table by himself and this earned him some rude stares. The man refused to move though, merely ignoring the looks with a smile.

The two other Butei that were circling and casing the store for the third and fifth times hadn't noticed him yet. That was fine. They were cautious. They were trained to be. Plus it was sheer luck that Victor had been nearby, and thus had the advantage of setting himself up before anyone else. As far as he knew at least. He recognized one of them from his own section. Another Dagula agent. This one renowned for a silver tongue and being able to talk the devil out of his soul, and was currently eyeballing the scones. The German made a mental wager on whether or not the agent would actually pay for it or talk his way into a free one. The other one could've been mistaken for a man, if Victor wasn't Victor. Assault? She wasn't information or assassination, he would've recognized her. She looked like she could punch a hole through a truck though. Safe bet, Assault. He took another sip of the drink, and gave a small nod and smile to the woman, putting his book down. The other Dagula had probably already placed him. He'd have been shocked if he didn't to be honest. He checked his cell phone for nothing important, the smile still hovering on his lips as one hand gently adjusted his glasses.

"Ja, zis city should prove interesting..."

Suzumi Kalashnikov, the lead wind blows.

Headlights, street lights, building lights and neon lights blended in a dizzying show of muted colours and energy. They came through the surprisingly clean windows of the otherwise derelict bus somewhat skewed.

Suzumi let the lights play across her vision as she stared out the window. Something about watching the world pass by was relaxing. This was important; the city usually left her high-strung. She'd made sure to visit cities before to get used to the urban world but it was still terrifying. Population overload. More people in some of these buildings than in the entire village near her childhood home.

The second thing that kept her calm was the small weight under her arm and the heavier weight in her duffel bag. If had a smoke she would be three for three. Suzumi didn't smoke before missions. The smell was too noticeable. Stealth wasn't Suzumi's forte but there was no reason to make oneself obvious.

The ancient vehicle wheezed as it slowed down. The hydraulics hissed and it shuddered to a stop. Suzumi waved thanks to the bus driver as she departed and wondered if the relic would even be able to move again. Each creak sounded like a death rattle. But with a groan the wheels turned and once again the bus continued its rounds. She admired that. Reliable machinery spoke to her soul.

Sixth Avenue. Division Six. Wasn't very subtle but it probably didn't matter much.

She didn't bother checking the coffee place. Watching and waiting and sneaking. These things were not Suzumi. It wasn't that she was thoughtless. She just knew her role was all. If the team leader was incompetent enough to set up a meeting that had already been infiltrated or monitored then success was a pipe dream anyway. Her prowling around like some alley cat wouldn't change that.

Suzumi shifted the weight of the duffel bag slung over her shoulder to a more comfortable position. The smell of roasted coffee assaulted her senses as she entered. She avoided the line and instead sat at a reasonably sized table by the wall. The others should be here shortly if they weren't already.

Standing in the little apartment he'd rented for the last few days, Jacob took stock again of what was coming with him. A treasure-trove of ammunition for his guns was chief amongst the list, along with those very weapons. Though he favored his M4 and Beretta combo, a few other weapons joined him on the journey. A G36A2 leaned on a wall over here, a half disassembled Benelli M4 Super 90 over there, a different firearm for every eventuality. He wouldn't be bringing all of them with him however, instead a Venezuelan by the name of Luis was transporting most of them. Coming with him was his trusty 92FS in a holster in his jacket, and his M4 in a duffle bag about his waist. Lining his jacket were a few more mags, with extra ammo for the carbine carefully stowed with it. It wasn't the safest arrangement, but it was necessary for the sake of concealment.

Running his fingers over his chin, Jacob grumbled to himself "One day I'll be able to grow some proper facial hair." His baby face had always been something he wanted to be rid of. Of course, he knew it came with its perks, especially when it came to some women, but he would prefer a good mustache-beard combo. With a muted sigh and a shrug, he had to start getting ready to saddle up. A thin bullet-proof vest formed his first piece of clothing. Expertly made with high-quality fibers, he'd be safe from pistol caliber rounds in most cases, and it was incredibly thin. Top notch, nothing but the best for the public's beloved mercenary police officers, the "Butei". With a shake of his head at this passing thought, he advanced to his shirt, a simple T-shirt emblazoned with two simple words "Army Strong". An American military shirt may draw some attention out here, but it also helped to keep people away from you. Over that went his aforementioned jacket, a Marine Pattern camouflage jacket he'd bought from a military surplus story. Buttoned up over his shirt, it hid the vest masterfully. Rounding it out was a pair of cargo pants, plenty of room for ammo and other such pieces of gear, and a pair of steel-toed combat boots for when things got rough.

Sliding the pistol into the previously noted jacket holster, and slinging the duffel around his shoulder, he took a last look over the apartment. With a grin and a joking salute, he departed the room, heading off to meet up with his team-mates. With a quick glance into another of his jacket pockets, an exterior one, he noted his little guilty pleasures were coming along too. A Sony PSP and a small collection of disks to occupy him on the trip over. He grinned and headed out, stepping into a bus and taking a seat, popping in "Warhammer 40k: Squad Command" and getting ready to kill some time in his favorite way.

When the bus finally came to stop, as the last Chaos Predator fell before his forces, Jacob shut off the PSP and stored it. It was a relic in today's age, but it was still one of his favorite time killers. He began the quick walk over to the Starbucks, just a 10 minute jaunt over, and checked the time upon arrival. 9:53 PM the watch on his wrist read, and he rolled his eyes as he began looking around. Some of the Butei were already visible, not that he'd have noticed if he didn't know specifically what faces to look for. Even then, it was a challenge to find them in the hustle and bustle of the city, a real achievement since he was no slouch when it came to picking out faces. With a nod of respect, he strode into the coffee shop and stepped into line. When he got to the front, he ordered a Venti sized white chocolate mocha, a nice fancy coffee that suited his taste buds just fine. Claiming it upon completion, he began to walk off when he noted yet another of his team-mates. This one was well known for being persuasive, that his damn voice was nigh-on-hypnotic, hence why Jacob never let his guard down for a second around the other man. They may be on the same team, but that didn't mean Jacob wanted him to have the ability to manipulate him so easily. Looking around, he finally found another member of the team, though this one Jacob had more personal experience with. She was a member of the Assault branch, like him, a fan of assault weapons, like him, and an advanced combatant with a bloodline, like him. All in all, he liked her as a person, though even in the discussions they'd had, he'd never been able to narrow down if she liked him as well, not that it mattered. He took a seat at the table with her, casually sipping his coffee, and saying to her

"Heya, how ya been?"

The case started like most others, the night was young, the wind was silent, and the finer parts of city blissfully slept unaware of the darkness that lingered beneath. It was on this faithful night that my client, soon to be employer, strolled into my office. He had the air of man who had fought in many battles yet still found my humble abode to be beneath him. It was then and there that I knew this was going to be an interesting case indeed. Something far livelier than the typical complaints of blackmail, smuggled goods and lost kittens. No, when a fun case came along it was a like a sixth sense suddenly came to life. A rapid feeling of exhilaration letting you know that this one was going to be a wild ride.

When the man began speaking, my suspicions were confirmed. It seemed this man was a representative of Cerberus. While normally this would be a cause for alarm, I was rather intrigued by the fact that my former school had sought me out after all these years. After working alone for a while one soon comes to realize that most people in life look for the easy path, and thus if they go out of there way for your help it’s generally in your best interests to listen.

So listen I did, as the man relayed his request, and it was something far more complex than a simple case, no the man was offering me a job uniquely suited for my skills. The chance to join Division Six of the new Butei Unit. This of course is the very same offer I disregarded as spam in Case File 116: A Ride with the Devil, it appeared I had made a mistake.

However it was not the job that interested me, in my line of work job offers are no rare occurrence, hired muscle is always appreciated on any team. Yet I enjoyed my ability to serve as a detective to the people of this city, while it may have been sinful, tears did not suit this city. Normally that would have been the end of it, I would wished the potential employer the best of luck and seen him off.

Two things made me hesitate, the first was the man’s nature as a Cerberus operative, and they were a unique and powerful organization after all. The very fact that the school that had trained others and myself so well was now going through the painstaking trouble of tracking me down for this job was rather intriguing. Then there was the setting, the division was stationed in a little city called Arkhan.

The very same Arkhan that had given me so much trouble in Case File 47: The Flying Kestrel. If my current city was a city of sin, Arkhan was a place that even sinners dared not tread. It was then that it dawned on me, for so long I had been defending this city, offering even the poorest clients my help. However now the people appeared to have finally rallied behind heroes and good Samaritans. Tears did not suit my city, and it seemed they were finally flowing out of our streets.

Arkhan would be a good next stop, the city of sin and death, was a city I could get behind helping. After all, I had been there a few times before, I’d do well to help my contacts in that area. So I did the rational thing and accepted the contract. This next case would no doubt go on for a while, but isn’t that the way all good things went?

When a good case came blowing through the front door, one would be remiss to not give it a go.

---

There was no denying that Starbucks was an interesting place for Deuce to first meet the rest of his new teammates. It seemed the coffee chain could survive even in the most scum ridden cities, not that Deuce was too surprised, for even criminals loved their coffee. The time of day was also an interesting choice. 10 PM, a time when most Starbucks around the country shut down, but Deuce supposed the different clientele gave ample excuse for the late hours.

Deuce however wasn’t going to just wait around till ten, he wanted to get a glimpse into the people he was working with before they had a chance to know who he was. At this point he doubted anyone other than his leader would have his picture, and Deuce had more than enough experience in Arkhan to pass as just another one of the lowlifes that lived in this city.

Entering the coffee empire’s store at precisely nine o’clock, Deuce grinned as he caught sight of an old acquaintance. An old contact of his named Stephan Sinclair, it seemed the man was enjoying some smoothies with some of his own friends. All criminals no doubt, but that suited Deuce just fun, it was unlikely the rest of his team would be expecting their teammate to be mingling with criminals before they had even arrived. Thus granting Deuce a better chance to observed his newfound allies.

“Stephan Sinclair,” Deuce stated in greeting as he walked closer to his old contact.

“Deuce is that you? Long time no see buddy.” Came the response, as the two shook each other’s hands. “What brings you back to Arkhan?”

“Just some business, say are you with friends?”

“Oh those crazy guys, here let me introduce you to them.”

It wasn’t long after that Deuce found himself sitting with criminals, toasting with smoothies as Deuce regaled them with tall tales of his previous assignments.

“So there I was staring down a guy three times my size, when out of nowhere Bloody Mary, you remember her right Stephan, well anyway she steps out of nowhere he slash the dude’s achilles. Poor guy probably didn’t walk straight for the rest of his life…”

Laughter and his storytelling would carry on even as Deuce’s other teammates sauntered into the Starbucks. Storytelling was not something to take lightly after all.

"Heya, how ya been?"

Suzumi looked up from the newspaper she'd pilfered from another table. She stared blankly at the young man before she realized she did recognize him. Another from the Academy and obviously a member of the team.

She DID remember this one. Suzumi had taken notice. She'd practically been born with a kalashnikov rifle in hand. She knew every last inch of a thousand weapons and could tell two similar guns apart while blindfolded in seconds. Yet this man managed to outperform her over half the time. He was a Bullet Whisperer. They simply went where he wanted to.

Suzumi's resting bored expression didn't change but she did wave to the man in greeting.

"I have been in good health", she replied. "It is pleasure to see someone who is not of the skulking. I have not seen our comrades but I assume there are some about. It would be ill of them to be late to first assignment since leaving Academy."

Suzumi pulled a small water bottle out of a side pocket on the duffel bag and took a swig. She had no information at the moment and so she had assumed there may be a mission after this meeting. No alcohol or smoking until she had confirmed free time.

"And how is the going of yourself? Still continue your training?"

"--And--how about two raspberry and white chocolate scones?"

The mistake people most often made about charm was letting it intertwine too closely with cockiness. The massive blinding grin and the obnoxiously obvious wink that cartoon characters could get away with was generally referred to as 'being a douche' in the real world. Sloan preferred the nice, casual kind of confidence; try not to 'umm' and 'ahh' through your order like you haven't decided what you wanted, sneak a five dollar note into the tip jar on the likely chance that one or two of the team probably wouldn't tip, give a small smile and get a small smile back.

Charm.

It was a lesson the knucklehead bragging with his crook buddies over Tazo Iced Passion had yet to learn, apparently. He recognized him as Butei because, besides that he was obviously telegraphing that he was Butei, he was apparently some kind of elite at Lezzad. He certainly had being friends with crooks down; he was yammering on about Bloody Marys while his drinking buddies drank up his words like he was some kind of shaman for schmucks. Being a douche.

The two Assault troops (for that was clearly what they were) caught up in conversation gave him more confidence, and Sloan was even more impressed by the Dagula in the suit he'd caught sight of upon entrance who had arrived before them all. The androgynous one who looked like she could have knocked out all their teeth inspired similar levels of 'wow, this team might not totally suck.' Given what he'd seen, maybe he could write off the Lezzad as the exception that proved the rule.

"Vanilla bean frap and the raspberry scones?"

"Appreciate it," Sloan said quietly, with another small smile, as he took his drink in one hand and a napkin enveloping both scones in the other. He scanned for one of the empty circular tables and slipped behind a seat quietly, resisting the urge to kick up his feet in another chair like Han Solo. After all, it wasn't like he expected to eat both scones himself.

A rather ordinary woman wandered inside Starbucks, her face lined with exhaustion. She was deathly pale, the bags under her eyes noticeable. Her light brown hair was in messily-formed bun and her body seemed to sway back and forth, as if she was on the verge of collapsing. However, sharp blue gray eyes observed her immediate surroundings. It didn’t take long for Nellie Jung to locate her fellow comrades; they each seemed to have their own distinct ‘presence’.

Trained as a sniper in the best facilities, it was second-nature for Nellie to pick out certain details a person would miss at first glance. She wasn’t as skilled compared to a Lezzad, but Nellie considered herself to be slightly above average. The only thing she took pride in was her marksmanship that was finely honed with diligent practice. Her Blood-line was... useful and interesting, but Nellie valued the skills she had created through blood, sweat, and tears. Cerberus apparently found her to be qualified enough to join the newly formed Division Six. When the lithe woman was given the news during their daily helo shooting practice, she could barely contain her joy.

This was finally her chance to prove her worth.

A few smudges of gun oil were visible on her hands but it could be easily mistaken as paint if one wasn't close enough to catch the faint odor. She carried a duffel bag that contained a case which held her beloved AWM, a few water bottles, and some Special K Chocolate Peanut Butter Protein bars. Those bars were delicious but if Nellie had more time on her hands she would be making her own tasty little treats. Baking was her other forte. The whole process of creating something that could make a person smile was a good enough reason for Nellie to practice.

A sigh escaped her lips as she shuffled towards the tables. She wasn’t particularly hungry, like usual, so she took a seat a seat near some men who were talking among themselves. The only thing she could pick up from them was someone named Bloody Mary and she did something and now… Nellie was staring out of the window with her hand and elbow supporting her head, observing a mother bird flitting around as it weaved a delicate home for her hatchlings.

Sloan smiled slightly, showing hints of white teeth but nothing off-putting. He'd been so preoccupied with his own assignment to Division Six that he hadn't taken much time to consider how people who weren't skilled at infiltration would adjust on the fly. Instead of kicking himself for not walking a mile in their shoes, he took the time to get his bearings on the new arrival. Really pretty up close, in the same androgynous way he'd noted from in line, but up close it was much easier to see the telltale signs of Assault - light facial scarring, taut muscles, a searching look like she wouldn't mind kicking his ass if he were to pull out the Sig he was carrying underneath his partially-unzipped hooded jacket. He'd probably deserve it if he was stupid enough to pick a fight with her anyway. Butei could be dangerous, whether you were one of them or not.

"Hey, now, don't worry about it. I'm born and bred Los Angeles, so before they put me through a semester in Dagula, I was the same way. Besides, looking at how many Assault grads we've got ourselves here, I'd put some money on you not being the only one who loves a good, straight fight." Despite the fact that he had spent undue amounts of time with a Russian as a drinking buddy, Sloan had absolutely no gift for the language; he had a decent grasp on Arabic (Mom's language) and Japanese (being a Butei) but it was English he'd first learned and first loved, so he spoke in his native tongue to the new arrival.

He carefully divided the napkins up and slipped another scone across the table politely. With his other hand he reached for the straw and tilted it towards him, taking a small, vanilla-tinged sip and scanning the room with his eyes. What he saw on second glance was mostly the same as his first; that pleased him enough to smile wider and casually cut off a bite of scone with his fork. The pastry was sweet, and a little light on the chocolate, but Sloan was so happy to have a taste of home that he promptly cut off another bite and ate it slightly faster than he had the first.

The knucklehead sitting with the crooks laughed louder at some joke his contact had told him. He hoped that was just good acting, and not the man's natural personality. His eyes left the full table and found the clock - nearly time - before, remembering his courtesies, making their way back to the woman at his table.

"Sloan Negasi, Dagula. I promise we're not as bad as you Assault types hear," Sloan greeted warmly between bites. "Pleasure to be working with you."

Though her manner of speaking was weird, it wasn't anything Jacob couldn't handle. He was used to weird manners of speaking in the Butei Academy, it was just something that happened. Sitting before her, he was happy to talk to a fellow Assault, nothing was better than talking to a fellow gunfighter. As she spoke, he nodded in reply, commenting "Yeah, not much of a stealther m'self. Breach and clear, y'know? I'm sure the spooks are hangin bout, somewhere." He chuckled at that and listened to the rest of her words with a lopsided, casual grin. Unbuttoning his jacket a little and leaning back in his seat, she may just be able to see his 92FS safely stowed if she was paying attention.

With a nod, he replied with a casual grin "Of course I have. Wouldn't be much of a fighter if I let m'self get lax, now would I? Been workin hard on my pistol and assault rifle techniques, along with some physical training, hand to hand and other such things. Let me tell ya, I was scared as hell I'd be alone in a sea of knife fighters and spooks, makes me real glad to see another gunner here." He then leaned a little closer, his grin growing boyishly, as he asked quietly "So, what pieces did you bring along? I've got an M4 in the bag, my Beretta on me and a knife in my pocket. Got a shotty and a few more pieces comin up too, a G36A2 and a pretty fresh AK-74 too."

It wasn't long before Deuce's comrades came wandering in, one by one the Butei trickled and Deuce made sure to take note of each one. So far it appeared the team was comprised mostly of Assault members, although Deuce suspected the one ordering the scones to be a Dagula. From the way the man spoke it was apparent that he possessed quite a bit of charm. Something extremely befitting of a Dagula, but not always the case in the other divisions.

There was also the potential Butei that had sat down near Deuce's own table. To the untrained eye, the lady appeared to simple one of those quieter folks, the kind who came into a Starbucks, quietly sipped some coffee and then left. However there were a few red flags for that particular assumption, the biggest one being that she hadn't bothered to get anything, thus obviously waiting for a meeting. Then there was the smudge on her hand, that while it could possibly just be paint, the faint odor wafting over to Deuce from across the tables seemed to suggest otherwise.

There was of course a scattering of other Butei across the restaurant. Some Assault members conversing with one another, another Assault member chatting with the Dagula, and Deuce took careful notice of all of time, at all times keeping an eye out in case things went a little awry. At this point he also believed it to be best if he let Stephen take over with the conversation. Deuce could easily act as another criminal listening to his friend's boasts as he observed the rest of the Starbucks.

So far the crowd around him was shaping up to be an interesting one, but Deuce wasn't yet sold on their individual competence.

Also, Deuce wondered why he didn't thing about ordering some scones, those things were delicious.

~~~~

A light smile held at her pink lips. The softness of such a light thing, accented the softness in her shining eyes neath the glow of the patio lights. Lashes darkened with darkening gunk and lined with darkening liner blinked once over bright hazel eyes. Raven locks, cropped at her chin swished past her cheeks as her head dipped downwards to quickly inspect what was emerging from a scritchity-scratchity motion of the pencil in her hand. Upon manilla coloured paper, it's tip continued to shape and form images of the street beyond the iron railing barrier of the coffee house.

The .45 tucked away at her waistband, pulled and twisted as she leaned over to pull her immense monstrosity of a phone from her black pack with a white bunny silhouette print upon it. Both hands then reached up and removed the inert headphones from her ears and laid them upon the table. Little pink lips pursed together as she inspected the image upon her sketchbook. With slight disappointment, she shook her head and scrunched up her nose when she noted the inconsistencies and improper proportions in her drawing. After a slight tilt of the head, a bit of a shrug, she placed her well-loved sketchbook upon the table beside her beloved headphones (that lit up and glowed when turned on!.) A slender hand with black tipped fingernails picked up her massive phone and she clicked on the side and noted the time. 21:56. Oooohhh... it's almost show time!

Others that passed though the entrance, she did not recognize as teammates save for one.

Aimee Askins, one Lady Ascension, neatly tossed her sketchbook and kit into her pack and slung it over a bare shoulder as she rose from her seat. With a single motion, the headphones were lifted from the table and tucked at the back of her neck, big padded cannons resting between her jawline and clavicles. The blood red shawl, she fluffed out and up and over it went to cover her pack and skimpy black tanktop and matching hued beret pulled tight over straight flowing raven hair. Monster phone held in the clutches of a black-fingertipped hand. The hem of her black fluffy skirt swished away at her black and white striped stocking'd knees as the Logi deftly turned and bounced away from her chair and table, lovingly worn black leather kid boots kicking up as she glided over to where the bespectacled German sat.

She paused momentarily and took a steeling breath.

Funny how a pilot with ice coursing through her veins, a wheel woman with fire lit in her eyes would need to do a gut check to meet up with someone she already knew. But then again this was the same pilot/driver that was forced to buy tokens just to catch ride on the train over here. But hey at least I made some savings! This out fit only cost this chick $17.66 taxes included at the second hand store! Yayuh!

A single curt yet amicable nod she tossed over at the sharp-suit clad German, coupled with a shy smile, she sat down and smoothed out her skirt. Any that saw the two of them here would easily recognize that the gent's socks were worth more than the refuse the young woman wore. But there was something more between them that held more worth than mere material goods.

“It's almost 2200, cowboy. Saddle up, Money, it's time to get live. Hop aboard cuz Miss Aces about to get ya high... one before you die?”

A quick offer of a lung-cancer stick then the metallic click and whoosh of a zippo sounded out and Aimee was soon puffing out a stream of smoke into the air She smiled shyly then looked away towards the entrance hoping he would remember her and her saying aboard the chopper during those sim runs back at the academy.

And that one live run.

She called him 'Money' because, yes, he came from a wealthy family. But more importantly, much more than any material possession, it was because she was always willing to bet anything upon him coming through. Money. Fo'sho!

Half the ciggie was gone and so was Aimee. At maw of the main entrance, the red thread of her black fluffy skirt's hem swished out as she turned around and entered the coffeehouse, butt first. She motioned for Vic to follow.

“Decoy, distract, disembowel... smokescreens. Isn't that what you said?”

Aimee swished around about-face, then traipsed on in. The strides in her steady gait slowed as she caught sight of those here; those she was meant to cold drop or hot extract. Suddenly she felt out of her league. Folks up in the Div. Six was bad f'n ass. Capital F'n. Fo'sho.

Aimee bit her lowerlip and shook her head round, so that raven locks could help to obscure her face and darkened hazel brown eyes. She shuffled over to the nearest table, where sat a pretty Asian lady staring away, tripping out on wild life yonder out the window with a certain serenity; a certain kind of calm.

Yeah, a certain kind of dead calm alright.

Aimee nodded at her, smiled shyly and took a seat, before pulling out her sketchbook and pencils. Absentmindedly, she shoved a marker up in her red beret.

And if there was an awkward silence now, the sound of her pencils scritchity-scratchity-ing upon paper would definitely be breaking that up.

Fo'sho.

As closing time approached and people were slowly cleared out of the store by a lone barista, only the Butei within that particular Starbucks were left undisturbed and allowed to stay. The blinds were drawn across the glass walls that served to provide a view into the shop, and the main entrance locked up.

"Alright, now that we have some privacy..." Robin spoke up, the female voice he had been using while disguised as the barista gone. He ripped off the mask and apron he wore, reverting back to his usual appearance, tossing aside the silicone pads and bra he had been using as a disguise. He moved a bunch of tables together so everyone could sit together, and he placed a small, dome shaped device in the center.

A hologram was projected up, a sort of cube forming in the center so the information being displayed could be read from any direction. "I'm Robin Black, code name Phantom, a Lezzad. I am also the assigned team leader for Division Six and the one responsible for finding us a place to stay. More on that in a moment." He introduced himself, with a humble bow, as his personnel file was flashed on the holographic display. The display began shuffling through the files of each member of the team, so everyone could get a good read of whatever information was available on their dossiers.

"HQ wants me to remind everyone that despite our test scores and different proficiencies in various fields, we're supposed to work together to fight crime, and so on. From the looks on your faces, I suppose that's stating the obvious. Now, as to why I called all of you here..." His voice trailed off as photographs of the warehouse they were supposed to assault came up, along with a 3D blueprint detailing its layout.

"This is our home, or at least, it will be after we clear out some rats." Robin began, as the layout shrunk to fill a third of the screen while the rest of it displayed information on the opposition. "I struck a deal with the Italian mob that gives us this warehouse to use as our base in exchange for clearing out a small time gang trying to grab their turf. As you can see, they're well armed and prefer to negotiate with weapons instead of words. Lethal force is permitted, and the police here are so corrupt arresting them would probably see them back on the streets in a few hours and out for blood anyway."

A picture of their vehicles, a few speed boats and some modified cars came up. "They're prepared to escape by land or sea, and we don't want any of them escaping. So I need someone on overwatch to cover the windows and exit routes. Ideally, I'll be able to sneak in and plant some explosives on their vehicles and time the fireworks to maximise our element of surprise."

He pulled back the sleeve of his black sweater to look at his watch. "Well, we have a few hours to prep. In the meantime, we can do the usual introductions and icebreaker thing."

Suzumi nodded in sympathy. She also did not like the mind-games and other past times of the intelligence corps. Superiority and posturing meant little to her. The important thing was that the other Assaults were good enough to have her back covered - if they could manage that then she was okay with them.

"So, what pieces did you bring along?", the other asked. "I've got an M4 in the bag, my Beretta on me and a knife in my pocket. Got a shotty and a few more pieces comin up too, a G36A2 and a pretty fresh AK-74 too."

Suzumi raised her eyebrows. "If you were of wanting an Avtomat Kalashnikova - an AK weapon - it is simple to ask of me in future. Mikhail Kalashnikov was my great-grandfather. His weapons it is of greatest of ease for me to procure."

She took another sip of water and checked the time. She lowered her voice. "I am of travelling lightly today. Saiga automatic shotgun. Two SIG sidearm. Knife. Little pistol of darts. I get that one because I am told we are not usually of shooting everyone."

People around the coffee place stood up and moved to the windows. Supposedly there was something going on outside that was attracting everyone's attention. Suzumi scowled.

"This is not of boding well"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The management - who turned out to be Butei - kicked everyone out of the store except a handful of people. These would be of course her team mates. She supposed this was a good thing. She hadn't been watching intently but no one outside of her and perhaps the Bullet Whisperer were obviously agents. Maybe this meant they were good at their jobs. Pipe dream maybe more than a dream.

Holograms appeared. Suzumi didn't care much, that was not interesting. At least until it showed a blueprint of the warehouse. THIS was interesting. Suzumi carefully studied it, only hearing the words "lethal force is permitted" in the speech.

She did not particularly care about whatever plans they cooked up. They would tell her what to do and she would do it. But the blueprints were important.

"Well, we have a few hours to prep. In the meantime, we can do the usual introductions and icebreaker thing."

Suzumi looked at him with visible confusion. Icebreaker? As in the nuclear boat?

Sloan's eyebrows raised when the barista removed her apron and mask to reveal what he could only assume was the team leader - tall and delicate, though he instantly assumed a commanding presence easily enough. The Dagula's eyes followed him to the holographic projector and rolled slightly when he saw the dossiers beginning to scroll. His was the third or fourth up there, and now and then eyes would flicker over to him when they read his Bloodline. He would have to dust off the tried and true explanation and defense of his heritage. He just knew it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nadia fidgeting as file after file rolled past the (mostly disinterested) team. He couldn't blame the woman for being uncomfortable with this. Beef hadn't exactly been a prom king when not around him either, and if someone had read Beef Stroganoff on a dossier, eyes were always sent rolling.

There were worse things to be than an Assault's conversation partner.

Back to reality.

"Lordy, that's embarrassing," Sloan muttered to Nadia as he wrapped what was left of his scone carefully in the napkin and looked towards Robin. "I just tipped the team leader fifty percent."

No one else was stepping up to introduce themselves, and someone had to go first in the round of icebreakers. There were worse things to be than a talkative lab rat. With a reassuring smile and a silent tap of Nadia's cup with his own, Sloan stood up and walked back towards the counter, pushing the tip jar aside several inches and hopping up to perch in front of the register. After another long, slow slip of his drink, he tilted his head back slightly, cleared his throat to himself, and spoke up:

"Sloan Negasi, Dagula. If you've ever been to Los Angeles, you've probably met about a hundred of me, but for whatever reason they chose me to be a Butei." He grinned and set his coffee cup down. "Let's just be clear about it: I'm sure my Bloodline sent some eyebrows raising, so let me reassure you that I comply totally with every Task Force One regulation regarding Bloodlines. I trust all of you not to go on a berserker rage and gut me, or to exploit the knowledge that my neck would probably snap 150% as easily as the average human's. All I'd ask in return is that you trust me not to 'hypnotize' you, as my first Interrogation instructor so wrongly put it. Other than that...not much to tell, I like to think I'm just a typical guy. I love boxing, basketball, and long walks on Venice Beach...and I'm probably a bit too generous for my own good." Turning to Robin, he deliberately and slowly rifled around in the tip jar and pulled out his five bucks before standing.

"This should be interesting," he said, finishing his icebreaker and sitting beside Nadia again. "A real blast and a half."

Arryn received the time and place of Divion Six's meeting place while she was still on the train into Arkhan. The train would arrive in a little under an hour, and she had an extra 5 hours to scope out the place and run security checks to make sure the venue was secure. Their team leader seemed to think somewhere public would reduce the risk of them going unheard, especially after hours. Well, she would verify that soon enough.

She slipped her smartphone back into the pocket of her hoodie, picking up her Vita 2 and hitting the "Start" button to resume her game. She was in the middle of perfecting Hyperdimension Neptunia 5, and an hour was plenty of time to finish a boss fight or two. She tapped her foot to the rhythm of the music in the background, her headphones isolating her from the world around her. She was tempted to use the time she was traveling to tinker with her new gadget designs, but people were easily unsettled if one started soldering circuit boards and filling the train with fumes.

Besides, she didn't want to advertise her identity.

---

"That was easy." Arryn muttered under her breath as she fooled around inside the mall's security system, easily finding the feed from the CCTV cameras in Starbucks. Her purpose was simply to wipe the existence of the meeting having ever took place, however, so she uploaded a virus that would delete the last few hours of recorded footage. As long as nothing was missing the next day, they would just dismiss it as a technical screw up.

She was sitting the parking lot at the back of the mall, with thirty minutes left to spare before the meeting time. She was hidden from view by a minivan, parked right next to one of the exits, where she had a good connection to the mall's internal network. She was seated on a steel trunk, where her Wasp and M4 were neatly packed away and secured. She was itching to test the new stun round she had designed during her waiting time, but it would have to wait.

She strode into the Starbucks, ordered a Dark Mocha and took a seat. It was easy to recognize who was Butei, but with civilians still around and their presence a supposed secret, Arryn figured going right up and greeting them might be broadcasting their presence. So she waited until everyone had left and the meeting began in earnest, masking her surprise when the female barista turned out to be their male leader. When his dossier flashed up on the holographic screen, she understood why as his information was displayed for everyone. Master of disguise, eh. She might have something that might help his -

Arryn shook herself back to focus on the present, reading and detailing important information about her comrades. Then the layout of the warehouse appeared. With the knowledge that it would be their base of operations after they cleared out its current occupants, Arryn was already planning upgrades and securing the area with electronic locks and the like at key locations. The more immediate task, however, was to attack it and eliminate the gang residing inside. Well, with the Wasp's advanced sensors, she would have no problem taking out the thugs if they came in the open, or even simply using its armament to punch a hole through the wall of the warehouse. Though she figured damaging their prospective home ground like that might be a little detrimental to their end.

Then came the time for introductions. Arryn giggled when she heard Sloan's comment about tipping the team leader, and listening intently to his introduction. Apparently, he was unhappy with how his profile described his Bloodline. Ah well, if he promised he wouldn't be using it on his own teammates, it was good enough. Arryn stood up next.

"Arryn Zech, Logi. You've probably heard about my blowing up testers with their own bombs thing. I'm your tech expert, I guess you could say. I've been assigned here in a support role, and also as the explosives expert and drone support girl. I guess I'm also in charge of requisitions and supplies from Cerberus by default, all things considering." She introduced herself politely, standing up and bowing to the rest of the team. "It's a pleasure to meet everyone!"

---

Robin chuckled when he heard Sloan's comment, and saw him taking out the tip he had placed inside earlier. "I'm not complaining. Though if you could leave that tip in there it'd be really nice. I gave the girl who's actually supposed to be working tonight a laxative and she's probably having a bad case of the shits right now... so." He grinned mischievously.

"I suppose I should introduce myself more clearly as well. You already know my name and specialization, so I'll just elaborate on the career thief part. Yes, I'm light-fingered and I like pilfering shiny things when Cerberus is looking the other way, but rest assured your possessions are safe. Mostly. I might steal your snacks if you leave them lying around." He opened with a joke, leaning back in his chair. "As for the whole thing about my ancestor being Sherlock Holmes... Rest assured any observations I make will be kept to myself."

Just looking around the table, he could tell a lot about his team just from their expressions, choice of clothing and body language. Aside from the usual shyness and apprehension, he also saw several people were doubtful of the ones they were going to be living and serving with. He figured he might as well do his job as team leader and try to get everyone to warm up to each other.

"Well, my introduction aside, I'm not going to be one of those hard ass team captain types. I certainly don't expect a newly formed team to start being all warm and family-like. So long as we all do our jobs and keep each other from getting killed, that'll take care of itself in due time, I expect. That said, feel free to approach me privately if you need anything."