The sound of plane engines would have normally drowned out the sound of everything else in the cabin, but that sound was being masked by the two ear buds resting in Murphy's left and right ear. They were black. The two cords, one from each bud, hung down and connected near the bottom of his chest. The cord then traced back down to the Android phone that was tucked away in his right front pocket. The music playing from the ear buds was rap music. That was the kind of music that Murphy was into. Rap. The volume was turned up just high enough for the people sitting beside him to barely hear it. The light tones of Kanye West had irritated Murphy's surrounding passengers shortly after they had ascended from the Orlando International Airport. But no one said anything to Murphy. The two passengers, one on either side of Murphy, had spent most of the flight examining articles and texts on their phone. To his right there sat a business man. Throughout the entire boarding process the business man had been relaxed. Then, just shortly after take off, a text caused his phone to vibrate. From that point on the business man had small amounts of sweat forming around the top of his brow, as well as he had begun to shift around constantly. Something had obviously agitated him. The man on Murphy's left was foreign, or at least looked that way at first. The man was dressed as a tourist. The tourist was taller than Murphy and Asian, as well as pretty thin. At first, Murphy assumed the man did not speak English, so he played his music louder. Then the man shot him a couple of looks. About mid flight, the man ordered a drink from a stewardess, and did so in perfect, non broken, English. Murphy caught most of the exchange and felt a little bit like a racist afterwards, but he brushed on.

The flight had been a long one. A few hours packed in close with strangers also did not help. Before the flight had ended, Murphy had himself become agitated, but was not shifting around as much as the business man. When the flight finally did come to an end, with the plane making a hasty touchdown in Minnesota, Murphy breathed a sigh of relief. There had been a little bit of turbulence on the flight but it had not been too rough. The plane came to a halt at one of the gates. Just a few hours ago Murphy was standing in sunny and hot Florida, now he was standing in rainy Minnesota. It was May, so it was warmer and there was no snow on the ground. But it was still raining. Once the seat belt light went off, Murphy unbuckled his and slid past the tourist to get into the aisle. The tourist shot him a glare as Murphy stumbled past. The music was still playing in his ear. The rugged brown carry-on bag was the only thing that Murphy took with him. Inside it had a change of clothes and some essentials. After lifting the cover that was over the above head storage compartment, Murphy pulled his bag out. It had gotten somewhat stuck and as Murphy yanked it out, he almost struck a woman in the head with it. Murphy quickly pulled one ear bug out and apologized, she just scoffed.

The exit process took about ten minutes, but finally Murphy was in the airport. In his left pocket, the note rested. It was folded into four parts and tucked away. Murphy retrieved it.

"Terminal Under Construction. Noon."

The time was twenty minutes to twelve. He had just enough time to locate the terminal. The airport itself was busy, severely busy. There had to be thousands of people inside of it, or at least that is how Murphy felt. No doubt they were coming and going from vacation. After proceeding down away from the gate and bumping into various people, Murphy finally spotted the terminal that was under construction. There were no construction workers working and no security guards watching it. People passed by it as if it did not exist. But Murphy kept a watchful eye on it, looking to see if anyone was coming out from the terminal. After five minutes of no movement inside of the construction zone, Murphy decided it was best to enter. He pushed past the construction tape and moved the hanging tarp aside. Once Murphy was behind the big black tarp, he was not visible to the general public. The terminal that was under construction looked completely normal, there was not a single sign of construction. It was just a series of hallways, doors, and empty stands. At the end there was a gate, one single gate. Murphy made his way down to the gate. It was like a ghost town in there. It was now ten minutes to noon. There was a nearby bench. Murphy placed his bag on one seat and then sat down next to it. He put the ear bud back in and laid his head back to rest. Ten minutes to go. The anticipation was killing him. At this point Murphy began to wonder.

Did I make a mistake?

Raul stepped off the plane into a new world. The United States looked rather strange and foreign, or rather, just as strange and foreign as the inside of an airport looked to Raul before yesterday. As he took a moment to absorb his surroundings and recover he realized that he was forgetting his manners. He turned to the elderly woman next to him and said in Spanish

"Thank you for putting up with me, I have never been in a plane... I thought I was a tough guy until today, ha!"

She smiled and told him that anyone would feel nervous on their first flight before patting his back reassuringly and parting ways. He realized that he may not get to speak his native tongue again for a while. He likely would never have gotten this opportunity had it not been for the extensive English lessons his father had paid for. You'll need this when the Garcia family business goes international, son he would always say.

That 'family business' was something he was looking forward to leaving behind. The danger, the fear, the death that always surrounded him had become too much. Still all of this was secondary to the guilt. The crosses that adorned his home always felt in conflict with the violence that surrounded it.

We're just surviving like everyone else was always what he was told. Perhaps they were right, but that was a moot point now; whatever lay ahead at that terminal could not be more dangerous than what he had seen at Caracas. And in that he took comfort.

Despite all of this, he found himself thinking of home longingly. His bed wasn't much but it was certainly better than sleeping in one of those seats. Raul stopped to stretch his aching back and legs.

Or trying to sleep anyway

He was tempted by travelers sprawled out on benches around him to do the same to get just a few minutes of shuteye, but he was already running late for... something. And so he quickened his pace before checking a clock on the wall.

12:20, shit

It wasn't until he found himself facing the unfinished terminal that he realized the utter insanity of what he was doing. He considered himself street-smart; he would never go through with a deal that had hints of a sting or ambush, and yet here he was, half a world away based on the most suspicious instructions he had ever received in his life.

Perhaps my desire to get out made me do something really, really stupid.

He almost wanted to turn back and forget that he had ever come, but he didn't have the money to get a ticket home even if he wanted to buy one. The outside of the terminal looked unassuming, and he knew that the only thing left was to move past the tape.

I wish I had brought a weapon

He didn't want to take the risk that comes with taking arms of any kind into an airport, and more importantly he was trying to leave all of that behind; he had never really been without a gun on his hip or a knife taped to his calf under his jeans at the very least. It made him feel exposed and vulnerable, which is why he was extremely timid as he quietly entered the terminal, and eventually moved through his empty surroundings toward the gate.

The last thing he expected was some kid listening to music. He could hear the bassy thump of rap beats from some distance, but couldn't discern much more. He looked rather nondescript and bored, not very different from the hundreds of other passengers he had walked by. He went from feeling scared to mildly awkward as he sat down on a different bench near the kid. Did he know about this strange letter? He patted the one in his own jean pocket.

I might need to show this to someone, better not lose it

Was he just lost, or maybe trying to get away from all of the noise in the terminal? Raul didn't know what to say, and so he didn't say anything. He let the quiet music from his headphones fill the room between them as he sat and pondered his next move.

Alan brought his laptop to the airport. He had a nagging feeling that perhaps this said something about him but he chose to ignore it. The immediate physical danger was more his concern. Though it was more like hypothetical physical danger. Days after receiving the letter Alan calmed down considerably. Though he no longer held the strange hope and fear the letter had awakened, he still made the plans, still boarded the plane, still brought his laptop.

The place was buzzing with activity and it made Alan feel whole. He loved being in the center of a large crowd. The movement of people felt like the entire world breathing to him which helped him to walk a little taller, move a little faster and smile a little easier. Whatever nutjob he found in the terminal would be charmed as hell even if it did end up being a massive waste of Alan's time. Really it was the whole aesthetic of such public areas that he loved. The small shops selling cinnamon buns, families separating, reuniting, and a calm voice telling everyone where to go and what to expect when they got there. An airport is just humanity at it's most efficient.

Approaching the meeting place Alan's heartbeat immediately sped. However the mundanity of the other people there helped to calm him. Either one of them had something to say to him or the whole thing was a hoax. The gears started turning in his head immediately as to how he could turn wasting over a hundred bucks just to find no one there into an article.

"Is there any chance one of you is waiting for me?" He said almost apologetically to the people sitting silently in front of him.

Emma grimaced as she sat on the fight. Her father was too chill about all of this. What was going on? Why was she on a flight? Why were the snacks so bad? That didn't matter, she was waiting until she could get off the god damn plane. She was sure she could feel people staring at her, but she wasn't sure why. She peered out of the window by her and sighed out. She was in a new place with a little letter that told her:

"Terminal under construction. Noon."

Great.

Emma waited and waited and waited, and finally, when she was allowed off of the flight to get to the Terminal, Emma rushed off of the plane. It was nearly Noon. Whatever this was, she couldn't be late. Emma bumped into Passengers and staff alike, apologizing as she made her way around the Terminals.

Terminal under construction.

Not that one.

Terminal under construction.

That one seemed closed, not under construction.
Terminal under construction.

Aha! Finally. Emma took a few glances around, and started to feel sick to her stomach. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Again, maybe someone was going to kill her. Meh, it couldn't be worse than the airline snacks that tasted of stale bread and washing away sorrows with a holiday. She peeled back the signs of danger, making her way down the corridor. She gulped as she started pulling her case along the area, and there it was. Other people. As she moved closer, she mumbled in a whisper. "Please don't kill me, please don't kill me..."

And then she stopped, looking to the guys she had located. One was already standing, asking if they were supposed to be meeting him. Hm, maybe it was a group thing. At least she was away from the crowds. A New York City girl and she hated crowds. Ironic. Emma pulled out her earbuds, which were red and striped, feeling her awkwardness kick in. She narrowed her eyes before gulping down the little shaky voice she had when she was nervous, and replaced it with that of confidence, tilting her head slightly as she spoke. Here goes.

"Uhm. Hi. Is this...um...under construction?"

Three more people showed up. Regular people, from the looks of it. The first just simply sat down across from Murphy. The strong silent type apparently. Then came another gentleman. He did not seem like the type to appear to random meetings. In fact, he did not look like the type to get out of his house that much. Murphy let a smile slowly cross his face. Then he spoke. "Is there any chance one of you is waiting for me?" He asked. Murphy had heard some of the question, enough to give an answer. Murphy removed one of the ear buds from his ear, then the other. He paused the music then placed his whole musical setup in his pocket. "Not me and I doubt Mendez here" Murphy was now just being racially insensitive and an asshole, "is the one we're meeting either." Murphy chuckled a bit. "Sorry" he apologized, not really meaning it, to the South American man sitting across from him. Then the girl arrived. Murphy saw it as a chance to break up the 'sausage fest' that had become the terminal that was 'under construction'. She also had a question.

"Uhm. Hi. Is this...um...under construction?" She asked. "Barely. Look at this place. The only 'construction' here would be the tarps in front of the entrance and the cones and tape. Look at this place" he stood up and waved his arms around. "There is no construction" he looked down at his phone. "It's noon and not a single sign of anyone other than ourselves. God did I honestly just waste a day flying up to Minnesota" Murphy shook his head. "Thank God I brought cash to buy a ticket home. What a joke" he said, turning to leave. Murphy tossed his bag over his shoulder and began to walk away.

"Not so fast Mr. O'Connor. I'm sure that the Ocala authorities would love to apprehend you once you get back from the Orlando airport." A voice said. Murphy turned quickly, curiosity and shock on his face. An older man was standing near the elevator. His attire consisted of a nice, expensive looking, suit and some glasses. "Mr. Garcia, Mr. Caster, and Ms. Glaindale. I am glad that the four of you were able to arrive on time, unlike some of the group" the man looked down at his watch. "I shall send for someone to wait here for them." He said, retrieving his phone. The man did not place a call, just a text. A few minutes of silence passed and the elevator opened. Another, younger man, in a suit walked out and stood silently away from the group.

"Now you are probably wondering what you are doing here and who I am. Well I am Mr. Lancaster. And to be frank, I know almost everything there is to know about all of you. That being said, I'll keep most of it private. Sorry for outing your enterprises Mr. O'Connor" he said, looking at Murphy before turning back to the rest of the group. "If you would gather your belongings we can head downstairs" he said, calmly, motioning towards the elevator. Murphy shrugged and entered the elevator. "Enthusiasm Mr. O'Connor. That'll get you places".

Emma blinked and furrowed her brows, following after the guys, her jaw slightly unhinged.

"You know our names? I don't know you. I literally picked up this letter to come here and I don't know you. How...?" Her sentence trailed off as she realised that no one really cared, everyone was just moving.

"Fine, but uhm...this might have to be explained later."

Great confident way of speaking, Emma. Not.

She moved with them, her eyes wandering to the other guys, all seeming to be around her age or in their 20's. She didn't know that there was only males here. If she did, she would of classified it as a dick party and thrown the letter out. Oh well, she was here now, so it was too late. Her only hope was to not get kidnapped. Or was that happening right now? Oh god. She stopped in her tracks, watching all of them. Was this ok?

Raul was assessing the man across from him. He looked kind of athletic, but also like a pretty average guy outside of a gnarly scar. The thought that this might be a sting operation certainly had crossed his mind, but this guy just didn't look like some kind of major player in the criminal underworld.

Of course maybe I don't either

And he wasn't. Sure, he may have been poised to take over his father's position but he was by no means a kingpin to be toppled. And besides, even with that rationale, why the United States? He knew they enjoyed meddling in his country's affairs, and well really the affairs of every place in South America, but still, it would seem far fetched.

Perhaps we're being recruited?

Some kind of criminal mastermind might see potential in us, and want us for some kind of bigger, grander exploits. He hoped that wasn't the case, because he wanted to be done with all of that. Is there any chance one of you is waiting for me interrupted his train of thought. He turned to look, and a lot of the thoughts of some kind of master criminal organization went out the window. This dude kind of looked like a dork. He reminded him of the clueless tourists him and his brothers would rip off if they were dumb enough to stray far from their resorts. He cut off his own harsh judgement and began to stray to a different line of thought.

He looks kind of nerdy, maybe he does some kind of hacking type shit

He didn't know much about news in the states, but apparently these Anonymous guys were hacking everything or whatever. Maybe they wanted him? Raul didn't know shit about computers, but perhaps they needed guys with street smarts to enforce for them or something? He didn't really get how the Anonymous thing worked, it had been a passing conversation topic between him and his father at one point, but not much more.

Raul was taken aback by the other man's racially charged comment, and stood up before the man quickly apologized with a chuckle. He might have started a fight if he was back in Venezuela, but he was trying to be a new person, not one who started shit over everything. Still, he didn't want to let the comment go unchallenged, so he let out a "Hey man watch it" before a pale redheaded girl interrupted with an awkward greeting.

Alright, I legitimately have no clue whats going on

There didn't really seem to be any connection between the four of them. He truly was in the middle of a band of misfits. When the first man spoke of wasted time and began to walk off, Raul thought to do the same, before a strong voice made him turn to look. Him and his younger companion both looked more like what he had expected. Suits, a professional demeanor, the kind of guys who wheel and deal in the high levels of the cartels and crime rings in his area. The comment the newcomer made about the man about to leave did not go unnoticed either.

So this O'Connor guy has been in the game at least

He felt a little bit better. Whatever this was, he wasn't the only one with a past. And even though the fact that this man seemed to know about his was concerning, at least he seemed to plan on keeping it a secret.

Well I'd probably get a similar threat if I don't play along

And so knowing he had little choice in the matter at the stage he took a few pensive steps onto the elevator. He had been stewing in questions all day, and the new developments had only given him more. He had been hesitant to say much of anything, but he just had to know.

"Are you cops? Crime bosses? Those Anonymous hacker guys? Why me... or I mean us?"

He realized asking why he was chosen might reveal things he wasn't ready for just anyone to know. He only hoped that the man was bluffing when he said he knew everything about his past, because there were dark corners of it that he wanted to remain buried.

Emma walked into the elevator with the men after shaking off the thought of being kidnapped. They seemed legit enough. She shuffled in, standing in the far corner, arms folded. She tried to keep her eyes fixed to the wall of the elevator, but her eyes wandered to the people. She studied the lines of the faces, the colours, everything about them. She was an artist, and this was a habit. She then let her eyes trail over the men in suits, her lips parting slightly as she let her mind drift of into questions again.

Where were they going?

Did she really have to be the only girl here?

Did those men know everything about them?

It couldn't be too bad, but...wait...everything?

Emma had never truly believed her mothers death was a car crash, it couldn't of ended that...suddenly. Maybe they knew what happened to her? Maybe it was just something in her mind making her delusional, but she had an option. Whatever they were here for, whatever they were going to be told to do, to be in trouble for, she had a chance. A chance to unravel the truth. It may of been with a few hipsters, a person as short as her and some men in suits, in a little elevator, but she would ask when she got the chance, away from all the others.

She didn't think it was the right time to ask names, so she kept herself quiet, arm folded slightly, leaning on the wall of the Elevator and keeping her gaze fixed on anything but anyone.

The trio boarded the elevator. They were then followed by the older man in the suit, Mr. Lancaster. Murphy took a quick survey, again, of those who were around him. Garcia must have been the South American gentleman and Glaindale must have been, obviously, been the woman. Now he knew their names but they also knew his. O'Connor. And because of Mr. Lancaster's big mouth, they knew that Murphy had a criminal background. Wonderful. The elevator looked to be a freight elevator. Large, brown, and a metal gate came down as Lancaster hit the 'down' button. The door closed with a loud thud, and then the steel elevator doors closed together. Murphy felt a feeling of dread as the elevator descended. It was not a quiet elevator but not one person inside of the elevator said a word.

Finally the large machine came to a halt. The doors opened. A beautiful white hallway was revealed, about ten people were buzzing around inside of the hallway. Not all of them were wearing suits. Lancaster led them out of the elevator and down the hall. The people in the hallway stopped and watched the trio carefully, precise, as they walked by. "I wonder what their deal is" Murphy said, trying to create a joke to lighten the mood. Lancaster killed it with his next comment. "They're wondering if they'll ever see you again" he smiled.

They finally arrived at a decently sized room. "Take a seat".

Emma, as they walked through the hall, kept her head away from the glares of the inhabitants of the place, a feeling of unease drifting through her being, sensing judgement. People cast stares their way and Emma had to face straight forward after keeping her head down for a moment, just to not make eye contact. Eye contact was another thing she was crap at. The joke from one of the guys was not lightening the mood, and the reply didn't help either.

"...What do you me-..."

She was cut off as they arrived at the room, her gaze drifting across it, lips slightly parted. They had went from an airport terminal to a huge underground area, the place buzzing with people their age and maybe older. This was strange, but she had to focus on the task at hand. That task was to not be completely confused and slightly paranoid.

As they moved into the room, Emma went to take her place in the lower middle section of the table. Her eyes scanned the people now sitting down, her jade gaze fixed on no one in particular, until the man started talking.