Jack Bright was not born yesterday. No self-respecting law enforcement, investigation, or... ANY task force, really, would have a meeting in a coffee shop. He might respect this crew of halfwits in the same way he respected a sad clown who managed to get beheaded after calling the sword thrower a pussy, but even HE didn't think they were that thick. He sat in a colorful lawnchair on an adjacent rooftop, spying equipment at the ready. Then he heard the approaching sirens and hit the deck, manning his sniper rifle. That wasn't an undercover police car though. It was the wrong make and model. Which meant it was a stolen siren.

It was obvious. Whoever the chucklefuck in charge was, he was actually a cultist. What he was a cultist OF didn't matter right now. Jack Bright had made plenty of enemies. Whether this incompetent was brainwashed or just that stupid, it was readily apparent he wanted all the agents in one place, in public, where there were no wards or safety measures. All it would take is to wait for the agents to reveal themselves, then summon his dark patron. Well, that wasn't going to happen. Agent Bright cocked the rifle, lining up the shot.