Thom sprayed fire back, as the truck veered off the road, one or two following behind. He slid a new magazine into the Swiss-built weapon, looking across to George, or Lancaster, as he peeked up.
"We'll have to go around them, away from main paths. They're going to know, but once we head off the trails, as per the plan, we'll be out of this place." He added, as he peeked up again, putting a burst of rounds into a driver's head of a tailing car, causing it to turn off the road and flip, as the driver was unable to keep control of the wheel on this loose surface, and by taking steel to his forehead, had decided to shift the position of his tightly gripped hands. Taking aim, he put another set of rounds down range, as they began to leave the city, escaping the urban sprawl and heading into the less developed countryside, towards the nearby mountains and hills that began to sprawl across the Hindu Kush.
"Get to the exfil point, team. You know when the extract is coming to get you out of there. You hold the target there till it arrives." Martin added down the comms, hearing the gunfire on the other end of the comms, as Thom looked over, seeing the other truck come close. Spraying rounds, he hit the engine with the .357 SIG rounds, knocking it out of action, as he got back down, Hassam still totally out for the count.
"Shit, did you roofie him? He's totally fucking out of it!" Thom said, looking down at Hassam, as the last truck shuddered to a halt, giving them the chance to pull away on the dirt roads. It had been an adventure to say the least, but they needed to end this crazy chase at some point, and they had mowed down enough of these people to at least warrant them a way out of here. They would expect them to head down the roads, so a regular inteligence agency would. Or to a local headquarters. Nope, Sierra was bugging out to the middle of fucking nowhere, because that was the way the plan was written. And by the time that the local Taliban and AQ forces had realized that after a long and prolongued gunfight with Pakistani Security forces that this had happened, they would be out of time.

---

A few hours passed, as the midday sun turned to evening in the mountains outside Peshwar, the small sandstone house having maybe two rooms, yet nothing inside. It was barren, an abandoned goathold perhaps, but now, was a hideaway for the team. They were waiting on further orders, and so far, had none. They had decided to string him up on one of the walls, tied up by a set of handcuffs that practically crucified the poor fucker. Still, this "fucker" was getting his just deserts, and after what he'd done, the team knew that he deserved it. The pickup parked a few kilometers away from here, it was just them and Hassam, tied up on a wall. Thom adjusted the position of the video camera, as he looked to the team, smirking. He hadn't turned it on, not yet at least.
"We got this bastard then." He said, looking across as Hassam spat, swearing.
Lancaster, or George as it was no longer neccecary to call each other by their alias, couldn't help but smile at the irony in the scene. He was no man of torture, but there was something called vengance, and this was best served cold.
"Now that is not something a gentleman would do, spitting on people; it's disrespectful. Thom, he's dishonoured you. It's only fit that you...do something, in return. Something ironic, something fitting, no?" Thom looked to George, and smirked.
"Well, then. I have never done a terrorist video, talk me through this one, chaps." Thom said, looking to Cassie and George, as he took a balaclava that was put on the table behind them, putting it on as he walked forwards putting the balaclava on.
"I remember your face! I will hunt you down and kill you!" He said, as Thom walked up to him, putting his gag back on.
"That's enough of that." Thom replied, as the Arab moaned a little, like a pig would when it's tail was squeezed.

"Put the camera on...okay, I think the focus is good. Fuck it." Thom said, as he looked to Hassam, putting hte knife to his throat.
"Anyway, to the infidels of the East! This is the price you pay! You kill innocent people, hurt and destroy with no remorse, and this man has beheaded hundreds of men himself! And this is the price you pay!" Thom said to the camera, as he looked at Hassam, who moaned, as he put the Machete to his throat, seeing Hassam look a little unimpressed from his look, as he then swung it against Hassam's ear, cutting it off as Hassam yelled under the gag, something horrible going on as Thom stopped about halfway through, looking over at the rest.
"Am I doing something wrong? Fuck, that might not be the way to do it. These terrorist videos are actually quite hard, you fuckers make it look so simple. I don't even know how to offend, you have such a nice way of doing it." Thom said in his clear English, looking to the team who looked about ready to sigh.
"Lancaster, you want to do this?" Thom asked, as he let him come down, passing him the Machete and balaclava, as he got behind the camera, watching his colleague try a different approach.

"With pleasure" was all George said before he smirked and accepted the machete. It weighed heavy, but firm in his hand. He saw why it was favored by so many around the world. George let his gaze meet Hassam's, raising the machete high up into the air as if ready to strike him down.
"As-salamu alaykum, you swine."

The machete did not however enter his neck, nor his head.
"Oh, I am terribly sorry, Sir. I'm not proficient with this weapon, I'm afraid, Let me try again." George said, halfway laughing, as the machete had entered Hassam's right shoulder instead. It was painful to watch, but Hassam deserved it, George thought. He raised the machete again, ready to strike Hassam down.

A second later, Hassam screamed out, not in pain, but in fear.
"Forgive me, Hassam, my bad, again." George had landed the machete right between his legs, missing his crotch by mere inches.
"I'm done with this, turns out I am no terrorist-material after all. Oh well, Cavalier? Liberty?" George asked, holding up the machete for anyone to take.

After the camera was turned off, the sight of Hassam was an embarrassing, but comedic one.
"He actually shart himself." Thom said, as he looked to George, chuckling as the camera was turned off. The guy was terrified, and while he had good reason to be, it never felt better to give someone the experience of what he gave to people. The man had crapped his pants, and while the smell made this room pretty horrid, it was a good feeling to know that at least he vaguely knew what his victims felt.
"We've still got two hours till we get extracted...Cassie, you can have some fun with him. Don't kill him, or take his manhood. Seriously, work relations would be kinda awkward if you turned him into a eunuch, and it isn't as fun to watch on YouTube." Thom added, as he headed out of the room, going to go grab himself a packet of crisps. This had to be the funniest thing that Thom had done in a long while, and he knew that after perhaps another HVT taking a few months ago, that torturing Hassam mentally like this, it was awesome to say the least.
"Speaking of..." Thom added ,as he grabbed his headset, flicking it on.
"Bugcatcher, you still on this net?"
"If you are, we'll send you some footage. Edit it out to remove our names, or blurt anything that looks like it compromises security. Let's fight this war on terror in a different way." Thom added, as he walked back into the room, pinching the SD card from the camera, and lobbing it into his encrypted smartphone for upload to Bugcatcher's net.

Drevan got up from his seat to stretch for abit. He'd been sitting for too long already. Rolling his shoulders, stretching out his back and legs, working his wrists and fingers. He gave out a groan as his back popped during a back stretch. He sighed and bounced a little getting his blood moving again. Returning to his rig he picked up the drink that'd been left sitting for abit, swirling the drink and sipping, watching the video feeds of the interrogation. He smiled brightly, he loved listening to the repartee between his teammates. They all had one hell of an interesting dynamic going on.

He sipped his drink and did a spit-take when the first machete strike missed. He winced, "Ow...okay that hurt even me...and wasted some good liquor..." He went to quickly go refill his drink, and came back just in time to see the miss on Hassam's nuts. Bugcatcher half curled up in sympathy pain, "Oww...oww...you guys are mean! He's gonna be shitting himself for life."

He chuckled, "When am I not still on the Net? Send it over." He set his drink down and slipped back into his chair. The upload and download. He smiled, "Where would you like me to put this? Google+? Youtube? Vimeo? Or just hang on to it until we can find a good use for it?" He collected the video and put it in an tripple encrypted folder for later use. He leaned back in his chair, "I'll edit it up nice for you. It'll be ready by the time you guys get back to jolly ol' England."

Liberty managed to get her and her posse to some house near Peshawar. It wasn't the best of hideouts but it had to do for now. They'd set up a terrorist style video set. It was really ironic considering their interrogation subject. She grabbed herself a seat in the back and hung out in the back. Lancaster and company deserved to have their fun with the suspect. Cassie was responsible for some of the cleanup work, but that was usually the best part of interrogations. It wasn't interrogating themselves it was cleaning up afterwards. So many methods, Cassie had used a majority of the fun ones. She was looking to really toy with him today. She just got the best rush whenever she was cleaning up SV's dirty work. She couldn't kill, but she could maim, maul, and other bad things that started with an M, minus murder. She was dilly-dallying on her phone as she watched Cavalier and Lancaster hack a poor terrorist to pieces. Fucker deserved it anyway so it was no biggie. It sucked how those two had to be the ones to do it. Even though it would've been substantially more humiliating if a white girl like her hacked the poor dude to pieces.

The impacts didn't faze her, she was lucky to not have a certain set of genetalia and feel the so-called empathy pain every other male watching it would feel. Liberty looked back at her phone and continued to send virtual basketballs through baskets. She was getting a bit antsy, but soon it would be her turn to play and she had a couple things in mind. However at this rate he might've actually died before Cassie could get her grimy hands on him. Wasn't a big deal, not like she killed a bunch of people earlier anyway. Finally, the interrogation looked like it would come to a close and it was Cassie's turn to play. She smiled with glee as she stepped into the light, grabbing hold of the machete and wiggling it in her left hand.

Liberty took the blade and slapped Hassam on the face with the flat side as hard as she could, as a warm-up. She then turned around and smacked his groin as HARD AS POSSIBLE with the flat side of the machete once again, before kicking him and the chair down and stepping on his wounded shoulder. "You better look away, boys. Mama bear's gonna fuck someone up." Cassie grinned, before she proceeded to make Hassam her bitch.

Four Days Later
London, England
2100 Hours

Martin didn't like chauffeurs, not with a car like his. The XFR was a vehicle you drove yourself, because even in the evening, it made sense. Sierra Vanguard's Section Head was a man that had an understated presence amongst his peers, and knew how this game would work. It was one that he twisted to his exact specifications, and it was that which made him able to perhaps work with such a crazy team of operators. He turned left, heading into Knightsbridge, the pubs, clubs and lights from closed shops filling the air with an atmosphere that London always experienced on a Friday night. This wasn't his destination, of course. The M4 loomed, and even Martin wasn't going to stop himself from flaunting the horses under this bonnet.

Following Pakistan, Hassam had been taken in a visibly shaken state, one that Martin didn't mind. Let his operators have fun with the guy, so long as they could still interrogate him. They'd thrown him into a secure facility run by MI6 in Caithness, at the opposite end of the country from London, but they had a man to crack still. Martin had seen his ugly face, and had words too. Not nice ones, either. They now had a chance to at least chill out, and the end of the week didn't mean the end of duty, but it did mean a chance to at least get a drink in. Not here, this place was not the environment to grab some drinks in. George and Thom would definitely understand that, there were no real classy establishments. Maybe not Drevan and Cassie, but Martin knew that he wasn't going to some lowlife bar to go for a chilled glass of vodka.

The Hammersmith Flyover passed by quickly, as traffic thinned out on the major thoroughfare exiting the capital, the M4 Motorway, and Martin checked around in all his mirrors. It would be one form to fill out if the police snapped a picture. A very large "Classified, MI5" and a reference number would force any police to cease and desist. Any recognition of the car's plate by a police scanner, an immediate no-go was issued. It was a licence to speed, a little illegitimate in the way he used it but Martin knew that this was business of a different matter that it was worthwhile for. So Martin had no qualms about putting his foot to the floor. The supercharged Welsh V8 roared, and the rev counter flickered forward, as Martin shifted into sixth, the car now pushing out 160mph, on a road where the limit was effectively half and a little more than that. Passing by a few saloons, the black beauty was now passing the exit for Heathrow, and headed for the west.

High Moor, Oxfordshire
30 Minutes Later

The tiny village was a speck, a tiny white sign illuminating the entrance as Martin slowed down from his modest speed of 90 on country roads, the car able to do a distance that most would call an hour and a half in a third of that. The evening had finally turned to night, and it was now dark, This job did have it's perks, and today, after a good day's job, Martin felt like a drink. "The Pear Orchard" was like many British pubs, quaint, and small in it's size, with a beer garden, yet it catered more towards a gentleman's tastes. Rather than the piss that was normally sold, they had good whiskey and vodka. Perhaps again, Drevan and Cassie didn't get what real whiskey was like, but when you spent £100 on a bottle, only then did you buy something worthwhile. Anything else was stove lighting fuel, in Martin's thoughts. You had to do it properly. Pulling into a parking spot, Martin clambered out, seeing the other cars of the rest of his team parked up. An Audi RS6 Avant, a Jeep Cherokee, and a Aston Martin DB AR1, a real exquisitely rare car for Britain. They stood out amongst various Mercedes, Range Rovers and BMWs, for certain, but still fitted in somewhat. He clambered out of his Jag, the Englishman adjusting the position of his cuffs on his suit, as he walked into the bar.

Finding them at the far end, it was a quiet place, with mainly upper class hunters and "toffs" of all types in here, the wooded and stoned construction and the way that this place felt was distinctly something else. It felt calm, with no music, no nothing. The smell of a light cigar and pipe smoke in the air, illegal of course but still consumed. A quiet hubub. It wasn't a loud, over the top place. It was an establishment to relax in, and spend a lot of cash. Looking around, Martin gave a rare smirk, looking at his team. His dark grey suit, and shaved bald head was one that was hard to forget, but could be changed very quickly if the situation demanded it.
"Hello, chaps." Martin greeted the group, as he then looked back at the bar, and then took his suit jacket off and placed it on one of the chairs, a white shirt and his black tie on underneath, his physique from his wrists and hands showing that Martin still had the legacy of a very dangerous field operator about him.
"I'm grabbing some drink, I'll be right back." He added, walking away from the group's table, and heading straight for the bar.

"Belvedere Dabrowka, one bottle. My usual, fix it to the tab." He simply said to the well dressed fellow on the other side of the bar, as he nodded. Polish Vodka, no less, and it cost £150 a bottle, such was the way in which was brewed. Insignificant batches went out, and for something that ought to have felt like d
"Certainly." The barman replied, grabbing a whole bottle of vodka and four glasses, knowing Martin. He didn't need a fake name, because he knew full well that if someone did burn him over these last few years, he'd have found out a very different way than getting poisoned. That he just knew- if Martin was going to be killed, this would be the very wrong place to do it. Many, many factors made it very difficult to do so- no less that Martin's real name was probably as scattered in the wind as his false identies had been. He could be Richard Michaels tomorrow, or Ahmed Al-Qasid, the man that was Martin Duncan Thatcher was probably as real as they were. No less, as he took the bottle and the tray of shot glasses back, he couldn't help but smirk again.

"It's a shame that our mutual friend couldn't join us, they don't partake in this stuff. Oh well. Thom, put that fucking blunt out. Establishment had a word with us last time when they found the Afghan variety on you, and those souvenirs are even getting on my nerves." Martin said, as Thom took the pipe out of his mouth, dousing it out with his thumb as he put it down, Martin pouring glasses. There was no specific mention of work here- references were fine, but keeping the work of Sierra on the down low was good. They had no need to be totally hush hush here, but if someone asked Martin or the people what they were up to, or overheard it, they'd sound like a group of work mates from the city or somewhere like that.
"Alright, boss. It cools my nerves."
"Ice baths and Rohypnol do the same job. I won't go into it. Anyway." Martin simply replied, an ice cold stare over at Thom as he put the pipe away, Martin finishing the pouring of the vodka. That trick was one that he had used a few times- a lively character had to die. Some alcohol, Rohypnol, and a bath of ice, and you threw them in, unconscious. Coroner always ruled suicide by drugging in that instance, from a nightclub. Very little suspicion for a particular target. Always.
"Work never ends, but we can take this opportunity to at least put our minds off it." Martin added, as he screwed the top on the expensive bottle of vodka.
"To the team." He said, as he raised his own shot, putting it up, looking at each individual member closely, before then clinking his glass, and downing the shot.

Several days later, Drevan "Bugcatcher" Kaii's flat, somewhere in London

Drevan sat in front of his bank of computers. The towers super charged, GTX Titan X GPUs, Intel Core i7-4960Xs, powerful one thousand one hundred watt power units. Fifty terabyte harddrives in each of the seven towers. It could go without saying that Drevan had some of the best hardware he can get. The computers all linked together to make it one hell of a work and fun set up. At the moment he had the video that the field group had sent him running through a video editor. He'd considered putting in cool light effects and the like, make it snappy. Music and sound, all that good stuff. He had finally decided not to do that, and just put some nice mood music to it.

He watched the video compile, while some Barry white played on another tower. He rubbed his chin, then nodded. The notification springing up telling him that the file is finished compiling and ready to be posted. One three other screens he brought up Vimeo, Youtube, Google+ and a reddit thread that he used to connect it all. The video went up on the social sites and a reddit post went up.

At that moment he got a text, "Drinks at the Pub! Team meeting."

Drevan smiled.

Several Minutes later

Drevan, with long jacket, dapper hat and couriers bag on, entered the pub. He nodded to the bartender. Since joining Sierra, they'd come to this place on and off several times. They each had tabs, and alot of people knew them as regulars. So the tender just nodded. Drevan joined those that were already here pulling out his mobile and checking the video he had put up. Grinning broadly and murmuring, "Trending already..."

When Martin showed up he was still fooling about with his phone, reading comments about the video. Things like, "It's so fake. Look at that you can see a camera boom at 6 minutes." Others were along the lines of, "No way in hell this is real. Probably a movie trailer." Another one he really liked is one extremely "smrt" fellow who posted, "Wht teh fck, i cnt fap 2 ths."

Drevan looked up and closed off his phone, reaching for the glass in front of him, raising it, "To the team, and a complete success."

Four days later, Oxfordshire countryside, 17:00 PM.

The afternoon sun shined brightly across the Oxfordshire landscape, dragging shadows after the trees, bushes and rocks standing up from the ground. And people, like George and the small group strolling through the wilderness. This land was, to George's great disappointment, the property of one of his friends, a fellow landowner. Owning it for himself would have been his next big priority for his renown and family, only if he hadn't enjoyed James' company as much as he did. They were like-minded, upper-class Englishmen with a well taste for life. Hunting included.

The sound of a shotgun rang through the air, followed by the thud of a grouse crashing into the ground. -"Excellent shot, George. That's a new record, I reckon?"

"Thank you, James. I do think it is, write that down Albert." George said to one of the men walking with them, one of his servants of course. George opened the shotgun and casually walked towards the dead grouse to pick it up. "I impress myself sometimes." Then he suddenly received a text message on his phone, and by the special ring he knew exactly who it was from, and probably what it was about. George handed the grouse over to Albert and turned his attention to his phone. "Well gentlemen, I fear we should considering ending this session sooner than expected. I have business to attend to."

A few hours later, The Pear Orchard.

George had already ordered his bottle of whiskey when the rest of the team started pouring into the pub. He took a sip of his glass of whiskey, a fine year of Glenfiddich, greeting the others as they sat down. "I certainly don't mind him not joining us, people like him do not drink after all. What a pity for them, when scotch is such an important part of life. Or what, Cassandra?" George's eyes shot over to Cassie and her less-than-delicate drink in her hand.

"For Queen and country, to us, and everyone else out there who needs us."

Four days later, Oxfordshire countryside, 17:00

Cassie was rather early to the bar, but it was for very good reason. While her peers spent their time just chilling out in a bar just a few days ago, Cassie did most of the dirty work. Lots of physicality, wrestling, and fighting overall. She might've been the hardest working on the squad so far. That did take a toll on her body and she needed to unwind. Unwind by chilling in a tub full of ice and water to flush out all the toxins in her muscles so that they'd be ready to go. This process was known as "ice bathing", very commonly used by athletes everywhere. It might've been a very unpleasant experience, but the end result was very well worth it. The end result brought stuff like refreshed muscles, and it might've taken a while for the patient to regain feeling, but they'd feel fresh and not as sore as one would think. Cassie was a firm believer in this, and she was chilling a metal tub of ice water, aggressive rap blasting on the speakers next to her. She hated this froofy British shit they had here, she needed some good ol' rap back from the states to keep her connected to her roots. It was a good pump up song, kept her on her toes and motivated to strangle Lancaster. But, no ice bath was complete without some good ol' American Whiskey. On the rocks, just the way she liked it. She was on her... third glass now? Cassie enjoyed her liquor, especially good American Whiskey, however Coke and Vodka had to be her favorite. All the taste of America with some Russian kick.

A man came into inform her that her time was up, and Cassie nodded, downing her glass of whiskey and sitting up, clambering out of the tub as water dripped for miles off of her. She got dried up fast and changed into some dry, clean clothes. She couldn't do anything but wait as the blood came back to her muscles, reinvigorating them. But if she tried to move now, she would probably fall over on her face and be as graceful as a drunk penguin. A few minutes had passed before she had regained feeling in her legs. She thanked her buddy for allowing her to take an ice bath, and she stepped outside to see her teammates sitting on the stool. It was a bit obvious what Cassie had just done, but it didn't matter, she had the upper edge when it came to physique. She checked her phone to see an unread text. Oops. She was already here anyway, so she figured she was on time. Cassie sighed and stepped over to behind the bar, sitting down and ordering yet another glass of Whiskey. It was a bit apparent that Cassie had a bit of drinks in her. But it was ok, she could hold her beverages.

As her teammate made a toast to the team, she raised her glass and hiccuped, before sipping on it like it was her life.

Martin looked closely at the team, nodding with a certain approval of what had been said. It was a mutually agreeable thing, that this was how it worked. It was a smooth atmosphere, but he knew that if there was work that had to be done anytime soon, then even in his state, Martin could get the team to work. Performing while drunk was a whole different approach to operating, but sometimes, it had to be done. Just reminding yourself at all times, no matter how shitfaced you were, of what your endgame was, was how you got through it, and the rest sort of somehow fell into place, especially if you weren't an essential asset. Martin had never passed two whiskey or vodka shots, when it came to dealing with operative issues- though for a day like today, he was prepared to drink a little more.

Looking across as Cassie, and then back at Drevan, he chuckled.
"Let it trend. It's not like we have any identifiable source of where it came from. And it's always a good laugh to see my boss wonder how on earth it even made YouTube. Virtually no suspicion of you know, the real perps." He added, a soft chuckle joining it as he drunk a little more of his vodka, putting it back down once again as he nodded, Thom drinking a little of his vodka shot, Martin checking the time once again.
"To be short, he's been dealt with. Which is good, because the paperwork is off my desk, it's been all filed on my end. Nothing too violent in the way you extracted him, even the Pakistanis aren't angry. Which is great, because they're likely to shit themselves at the worst of things. That was why I asked for you not to go guns blazing on this one." He simply stated, as Thom looked over, somewhat agreeably, but interrogative.
"Couldn't you just delegate it back to HR?"

"Human Resources has it's limits, that fucker might be a goldmine as an intel resource but he isn't fucking human. I draw the line when you start cutting people's heads off. It's too sensitive, so I had to do it. In this fucking line of work, I swear we could do with PAs." Martin simply replied sharply, chuckling as he saw Thom have something hit his chain of thought.
"What, temps with big tits? George would be too busy fucking them anyway to help us out."
"Precisely. Your charm has no boundaries George to be perfectly honest with you; shagging that Princess in Monaco was fucking impressive though, all so we could go on with that work down there in dealing with that criminal ring. We aren't having a repeat of a small pornographic empire that Drevan created from sex tapes on hacked hard drives either, especially not with PAs of that kind. No matter how good it was at the time, we aren't going through that explanation again." Martin said, chucking, just reminiscing in his head about past times.
"Anyway- we could just get male ones instead to stop that from...well, distracting us, but they'd shit themselves every time they saw our lovely Cassie here. But Cassie is again, out of their league. Probably would half kill them before they tried. We don't need to speak about Prague again. Even I felt sorry for that guy that Cassie dealt with." Martin replied, shaking his head.
"Here's to temps with big tits and four kids." Thom said jokingly to break the conversation up, as he raised his glass, as even Martin didn't put his glass up. Shrugging, Thom downed the rest of the shot, as Martin took the expensive bottle back into his hands. Unscrewing the lid, he refilled everyone's measures, up to a double standard, before placing it back on the wooden table.

"Yeah. Well, regardless. We need our heads in the game again. We're going to have work to do soon. Lot more juicy work that they will want us to follow up on. Will keep us busy." Martin continued the flow of the convorsation, as he sipped his vodka a little, Thom also joining him in having a short swig of the spirit, Martin looking at the team once more.
"And no doubt, there are people of a certain nature that I'm sure are going to have very bright futures, once our mutual friends spills what he knows."

Drevan sipped his drink smiling a little as he did. He continued to monitor the Youtube and other accounts that had the new video on it, amused at all the comments and watching the views rack up. He was a little bit of a view-whore, so he had the brightest of smiles on his face when he saw the view count to be well above ten thousand.

He brought his attention back to reality.

He grinned broadly, "Now hang on, there was never anything linking me to that webring. All the information was routed through clean proxies and routers. There was no way anyone could prove that it was me who put all the sophisticated and nearly foolproof security up. I can't possibly be behind it." He grinned, "That beautiful piece of work that it was. Damn it I wish who ever squealed on it could burn in a fire. I was getting a hundred subs a day, five bucks each, that's a lot of money."

Drevan laughed, letting his teammates think what they wanted to think. Could he have done it? He certainly could have, and he would have if he really wanted too. With the power behind his Rig, and his access to networks like Tor and other networks it's entirely possible he got all those pictures without once touching the surface web.

He grinned, "Oh the days when HR wasn't looking over my shoulder when I had free time."

Human Resources, just the words brought back memories to George as he took another sip from his glass of whiskey. Yes he had, 'taken some liberties' with the temps when they had time, but it was not as if they objected. Only complaint he had was their bra-sizes were bigger than their brains, and none of them made for good conversation after a good time in bed, couch or whatever was available at that current moment.

"Oh yes, the princess! I had nearly forgotten, thank you for reminding me. And you are welcome, wasn't like anyone thanked me back then, or hit me over the head with the butt of their gun." George said with a mix of pride and annoyance, the latter directed towards Cassie. "At least my work goes clean, no need for trails of blood leading to a dangling corpse in a library."

George emptied the glass and refilled it with the Glenfiddich, as he looked at Drevan. "Those were the days, weren't they? Just like a Bond-movie, except realistic and with better one-liners. But the freedom to do what was needed, the true licence to kill. Anyway, what do you reckon is our next task? I'd prefer it if we stayed out of the Middle East, perhaps somewhere less zealots and goats?"

Cassie was slamming a drink as Lancaster decided to make another one of his stupid remarks. She shrugged before slamming more of it down, "I like how I did that, it sends a message that we are not to be fucked with." Cassie chucked a peanut at Lancaster's face before hiccuping. The redness in her face was indicating that Cassie should probably be cut off very soon. If not, she was probably going to do some very regrettable things in the next ten minutes or so. At the rate that she was slamming her drinks she would have the worst headache of her life tomorrow, but it was all totally worth it.

"We are a Bond movie." Cassie said, before faceplanting on her counter and seemingly passing out. She didn't move a single muscle for a while, probably knocked herself out and fell asleep right there and then.

Martin could only watch as Cassie drank and drank, almost wanting to chuckle. The poor woman would be out of it, and almost as if right on cue, she passed out onto the table, completely and utterly wasted. It wasn't even something that Martin could guess her state, it was just that she was gone. Thom could only look across at the passed out female agent of Sierra, and only take a grin on his face.
"That's what you get when you have one too many. Carrying her is going to be fun." Thom simply said, followed by an icy stare from Martin.
"We might have wet work over here, local too. Best we do what we do best to sort it out. I suggest you all stay clean after tonight." Martin simply said, chuckling at the thought. Oh, the plans were already on his table, and it was far closer to home. It was Sierra's specialty, in deniable and untraceable activities. Ones that people didn't inspect or know of too well at any level.
"That is, after tonight." Martin said, as he downed a little more vodka, knowing they could sort Cassie out soon. She was dozing now, but no less, she could enjoy that, while Martin enjoyed planning two intricate takedowns of a potential Islamic terror network closer to home.

-----

Two Days Later
Somewhere over London
2300 Hours

The AW109 was a beautiful helicopter, the Agusta-Westland produced helicopter being amongst the fastest executive helicopters on the market, sleek and exactly the kind of thing a buisnessman in the city would have for himself. In black, it meant you meaned business. Martin had his own, letting one of the agency's pilots take it over himself. In the back, he sat adjacent to Cassie, or Liberty, looking out of the tinted glass window. He wore the same suit from the bar, albeit this time after it had been ironed and dry cleaned; he wasn't taking his mentality in the pub when he wore his suit to now, he liked to think to himself. They were different times.
"So it's wet work. We'll go over it again." Martin simply said to her, looking back out at the skyline.
"There's a server bank about three-quarters of the way up 20 Fenchurch Street, or the Walkie-Talkie as they call it. 220m. This is our sort of operation. You go in, any means needed. In this case, you're parachuting in." Martin simply added, looking out, noting that the helicopter was taking them back around over towards the City of London, almost the same as any helicopter.
"Place is locked down, the security is all over the place across the building. We're here because our friend, Ahmed, gave up the name of a very influential Middle Eastern banker, and Bugcatcher, as almighty as he is with hacking, won't be able to get a direct line into their servers, not by regular means. No way that the police can come in, it's too much red tape, and the government does not want this guy to be brought into a scandal. Hacking wise, DDoS and all out assaults are too difficult, but patching a backdoor is going to make Drevan's job a piece of cake, and rather than giving us a drip-feed, we can access their files on demand. Money transfers, even the Swiss stuff." Martin didn't seem even barely fazed about the description, and knew that Liberty knew this full well.

"So we're doing this totally silent. You drop in, find your way down the building, however you want. Drevan will guide you, he's going to soon have control of the building's security system...and you know what that means. You find the server, put the USB in and then get out. You've got a spare BASE rig if you want it, or anything else you've conjured for making a great escape. Not a single round is to be fired, but if you have to tranquilize a guard, you know what to do. We want zero casualties, but fucking people up is an option if you have to roll with it. Don't get caught, Liberty." He simply reiterated, as he patted her on the back, by her rig.
"Bugcatcher, we're 2 minutes out to target. How's the system hack going? We want zero cameras, or even better, tell us where our security detail is. Shouldn't be thick." The bald section leader looked out once more, checking over Liberty's gear. Infiltration equipment, but he had let her pick whatever she wanted to take with her. She knew best, but as he had said, non-lethals only. She would take them down, even if they were armed. After all, these were just security guards, and she was going to be a shadow in the dark, coming from the sky. Martin always reminded himself that operators like Liberty were more than capable at knowing how to get the job done, and whatever vents or quiet sneaking she would do, it would deliever results. Opening the door, Martin stepped back as the wind howled inside, looking back across to her.
"One minute!" He yelled over his headset, looking back at her, then pointing the building out.
"Drevan's watching like the pervert he is through cameras on you and in there, so there's eyes everywhere. Remember, don't kill anyone. There will be paperwork on your desk if you do, and they print it in bundles these days." Martin said, as he held on tight to the rail in the door, the darkness and the lights below being the only thing that illuminated this place, the view of the Thames and the skyscrapers truly stunning.

The helicopter turned one last time, holding a hovering pattern, as the pilot gave a thumbs up.
"Green light, green light! Go!" He simply barked, as Martin simply looked on at Liberty, acutely aware that this was indeed happening. It was another day in the office, as he then shut the door, the pilot bugging out and heading back to the MI6 building.

----

Somewhere in Brixton, London

The operation that Drevan, Martin and Cassie were on felt like a million miles away to Thom, as they drove through Brixton slowly, taking each traffic light and give way sign as it came.
"So the boss says that we're going to find a terror cell over here. Fucking really?" He simply said, rolling down the window inside Lancaster's Aston, the sound of reggae music pounding from a club that they drove slowly by, the smell of weed strong in the air. This felt insane, just totally wrong. The area was deprived, but the influence felt generally positive, apart from the few tower blocks and terraced houses, there were just derelict warehouses and factories.
"You should drop me here and let me get baked, I tell you." He added, chuckling, looking in the footwell of his passenger seat, unzipping a duffel and opening the glovebox. He was fully aware of the situation they were in, and getting stoned was the last thing on his mind, however tempting it was.
"We've got some serious firepower. And if there's the dozen that this guy coughed up, then we're going to have some hell to pay. You know me. I'll hold and chase any runners, you're clearing them out. Sensitive stuff, but they gave us the greenlight to shoot up a bunch of terrorists." Thom pulled out one of the MPXs from the duffel, loading a magazine. He pulled out a Colt C8, and loaded a magazine into it, the Canadian-built weapon the mainstay of the SAS, and now in the hands of MI5. It was an M4A1 for all intents and purposes, but it had a little more than just a regular rifleman's use to it. Being shortened and more elegant, it was a rifle for absolutely killing people precisely- this being the rifle he wanted to throw to Lancaster.

"Take another left here, then stop by the gate. They're inside an abandoned factory, don't know what the fuck they're doing there but that's our tip. We got the equivalent of some lad on work experience to check it out, and he says there are some terrorist types there, about a dozen, on the second floor. You'll need to catch their attention, I mean this is loud after all- the police won't arrive in the time that we're gone, and higher ups have this sorted if it does. Fuck knows what they're going to do, but before anyone gets a wind of it, I suppose taking them down and shipping their bodies off before the locals even hear that there was an Al-Qaeda cell in Brixton would be splendid. Try and find any intel or IEDs or terrorist shit in there, Lancaster, we don't want them going off here." Thom added, as he chuckled to himself.
"I mean, they'll kill all the Jamaicans, and that wouldn't be very nice. Us too."

Drevan grit his teeth, "Why the hell are you being so stubborn right now..." He murmered as he clacked away at the keyboard in front of him, "Don't rush...just...hold on...they've got some interesting ICM in this system. Not sure why they went to such work...okay..." He grinned, "Wait...hello baby..." He picked away at a knot of code he'd slipped into, "Ahhh there you go baby...don't be mean...lemme just touch you..." He didn't seem at all to notice his link to the team was open. "Come on now baby...spread'em a little...yeah there you go hunny...ah yeah look at that hotness...yeah don't worry baby I'll be gentle." He let out a slow, low groan, almost akin to a groan of pleasure.

He kept working, hunched over and grinning as the code unraveled for him, "Yeah there you go baby...doesn't it feel good to let go...ahh yeah..." His eyes glittered and gleamed, working away. "Just...yeah...no teeth baby...no teeth...wide...there ya go...lemme know if I'm hurting you..." He let out another groan as a whole section of the code gave way, "Ahhhh yeah I love those peepers of yours hunny...yeah...open wide for daddy...yeah that's right hunny...daddy is at half mast, you just wait!"

He cackled and let out another moan as a second section of the code unraveled. Drevan let out a bark of almost sexual sounded pleasure, "Ah fuck yeah! There you go you like that don't you! Take it baby...take it all...yeah!" He worked away, the last bit of code beginning to unravel. He let out a second barking groan of pleasure. "Fuck yeah! Yeah!" The last bit of code shattered. Giving Drevan total control over the security mainframe of their target. He shuddered and let out a long drawn out groan of pleasure and triumph, he leaned back in his seat and lit himself a cigarette, "Ohhh yeah...that's how we do it..." He finally realized his link to everyone was still open and he grinned, "Enjoy the podcast kids? Security mainframe is ours. I see...seven bodies you'll need to worry about. Maybe eight if the guy in a shed is actually security and not some night crew munking it. I can guide you all right past it all. Hell I'll be able to take still shots as you go through if you want me to post them on the places website later to show that they aren't safe." He puffed at his cigarette and grinned broadly.

Then leaned back forward to check the feeds. Grinning as he watched the team move in, "You guys don't waste time that's for sure. Careful now."

Cassie took her Mk14 and chambered it, loading it up with non-lethal tranquilizer rounds as she was specifically directed to do so. The only lethal thing on her body was her fists, as well as a knife just in case things got a little bit too close for comfort. Lucky for those who decided to cross her, she knew where it hurt most without actually killing them. It was straight out of something from Metal Gear Solid. Being sneaky, non-lethal, close quarters? It was very uncanny. The fact that Cassie had herself a Beretta M9A1 loaded up with less-than-lethal tranquilizer rounds as well was also a clear indication. The most annoying thing about having that Beretta was that she had to manually chamber it, kinda like a bolt action rifle. It was all in the expense of stealth, unfortunately justifying the extra tight suit that she had on. It was tighter than anything she had ever worn, and believe her, she had worn some pretty tight stuff in her lifetime. But at the same time, it was oddly very comfortable. Since this was Cassie, she was loaded to the teeth - and when things needed to get loud she had a shotgun. Before anyone from the higher-ups would freak out, it was loaded with beanbags, something that wouldn't kill someone immediately. Incapacitate? Yes. Kill? No. Cassie got herself ready as the helicopter approached the staging location, taking in a deep breath as she would be immersed into a situation where she exceled.

As Martin counted down, Cassie stood up, rolling her neck and hopping around as if she were warming up for a boxing match or something. This was just regular business for her. As she checked her gear once more, she stood in front of the door waiting to parachute out of the helicopter. As the time approached, Cassie jumped out of the helicopter, getting into the proper formation as she became airborne and floated in the air like an eagle of sorts. She was going to get real close to the building in some time, but she had to open her parachute as low as possible so she could have the most incognito entrance ever. She felt the wind in her face, wishing that insertion would a different way since she hated skydiving. But that was the wish of the group so that was what she had to comply with. Soon enough, the building was in sight and Cassie put her hand on the rope that would open up the parachute. She held out her right arm, watching her GPS/watch count how many feet she was away from her destination. It was set so that she would be told when to open it at the lowest possible. That point was coming up soon, and her timing was perfect as she pulled it open, being bolted back violently as she slowed down. Everything was looking smooth from here, except for one teensy bitty little thing. Where she was projected to land there was a guard standing there. Granted he was oblivious because he was blasting music, but Cassie could not land without getting detected. She only had one option. As Cassie closed in, she stuck out her feet, pulling down on her parachute. It was the most elaborate dropkick ever as her boots collided with the guard's back, knocking him forward as she unlatched from her parachute kit. She landed forwards before rolling so that she could face the guard she knocked over. Whipping out her Beretta immediately, she shot him in the head and knocked him out almost immediately. There was some cleanup involved in this, but it was fine. She just threw everything underneath some weird box and continued on her way.

"Liberty reporting in, on the way to the objective."

"Well there's surely not as many goats and zealots here like last time, that's a start." George calmly said to himself as they drove down yet another lane through Brixton, yet another lovely part of Greater London. Only complaint George had was that his Aston Martin was far from being in its favourite terrain; narrow roads packed with slow cars and even slower traffic lights. But again, it wasn't the Middle East, at least people spoke English in these parts. That was to say, most people, not all.

"You'd be surprised on where you might find those. Once I was sent to deal with a cell hidden far up on Svalbard in Norway. Lucky for me, they had forgotten one thing about the North; Polar Bears. And that's all I can say, or else I'd have to kill you, as we say in this business." Thom knew this already, through their time together they had gotten to known each others service history, and none of them wanted to kill each other, except for George and Cassie of course. George wondered for a moment what exactly Cassie was doing now, sure that whatever she was doing, she was doing it violently, yet resoundingly sexy. Or that was his pants thinking.

George simply shook his head at Thom's conversation about weed and smoking, and chuckled. "Maybe later, after we're done here. As long as we get the job done and I don't get the blame, you can go and smoke whatever your heart desires." Shortly after the Aston Martin pulled up outside the gates of the abandoned factory, a relic of Britain's distant industrial past where Britannia truly ruled the waves. Hadn't George enjoyed the lifestyle of the modern English gentleman, he'd want to live as a British aristocrat in the Indian sub-continent, alongside a few maids and Indian servants.

"Don't worry, I'll be quick, as long as I don't get shot at or Cassie suddenly shows up and ruins my plan. But yeah, take down any runners, I'll do my best inside. Hopefully I'll get everyone inside while you can sit back and relax. Besides..."George said confidently, pulling out a piece of paper and stretching it out in front of Thom "I own that old factory, and I plan to evict any intruders that dare to camp in my property. Ah, don't you just love the real-estate business?" George had his contacts, and posing as the owner of the factory all fitted perfectly to his plan. Outside of the agency's grasp, clearly. According to the plan thought out by the group, of course. Fitting for George's skills, precisely.

George opened the gate and casually strolled towards the abandoned factory, eyes scanning the scene for hostiles that surely would gun him down. When he reached the entrance to the factory, he quickly checked his concealed Walther PPQ nicely hidden inside his jacket, before venturing inside. "Hello, anyone home? Daddy brought biscuits and tea!" The plan was set in motion, and soon, hell would break loose. But first, George would have a little fun with his targets.

The helicopter pulled away, as Martin looked over, seeing the building in the distance, and Liberty's canopy only suddenly open a few hundred feet above the building, and come in fast and quick, barely even making a trace on the London skyline in her approach. However she was doing this, Martin knew that she had this in the bag, and there would be some individuals guarding the data that would find themselves severely fucked up following some time with that particular agent. Sitting in his seat again, Martin adjusted the headphones on his ears, looking out across to the front.
"Pilot, take us back, we're clear!" He gave a clear command over the comms, and the helicopter dived, quickly leaving the area as fast as it had entered it, Martin unashamedly feeling a little bit like an executive of sorts. Well, he was flying in a helicopter across the fast closing night sky of London, with little security clearances that hindered where he couldn't go.
"Cheers for the commentary, Bugcatcher; you know the drill from here on out. Whatever Liberty needs, you provide. For the duration of this op, let's have a security blankout, nobody leaves, nobody enters the top floors. Once we've got an access point for the data, you turn it inside out, and burn everything they have. Usual methods." Martin added, as he continued to look out, the AW109 flying down the Thames and headed for MI6, back to base, back so he could at least have a gander at what hopefully wasn't Bugcatcher getting too sexually aggravated at his hacking. For the moment being, he took out his phone, and patched himself into Liberty's feed, watching and observing. R&D would make the already camera into a contact lens soon, one that would provide a high level of video quality from perhaps a more first person perspective. He could already tell, that would be a fun way to infiltrate a terrorist organization once they got that working.

---

"You have too much money to play with...okay, government money, either way. I don't know how the fuck you do these things, but you clear it out however you think it works best."
Thom emerged from the car, the PDW in hand, as he moved toward the side, the grey-suited gentleman moving in around the side, setting up a position within the factory's gates and out of public view, but in a position that kept him fairly hidden.
"I'm getting fucking dirt on this thing...the cost for the Dry Cleaners better be paid for." He mumbled to himself, as he set up in position by the side of the abandoned factory, picking up a flank that the illegal occupants of this place had marked out as some sort of exfiltration route. This was a clean-up job, and it would be messy either way- getting rid of a terror cell couldn't be done any other way, not in a way that didn't involve a mountain of bureaucracy or other issues that Sierra simply didn't have time to go through. This was going to be stopped, right here, right now.
"In position, Lancaster. Go do your thing."

Draven clicked away at his keyboard, "I got you all. Sorry about the commentary. That hack was intense. Like sex, digitally, and without worry of STDs." He chuckled. Bringing up the security feeds he started to record short spurts of video for the cameras. Including when gaurds moved past them while on patrol. He looked up and smiled, "Okay I've got just about everything I need to make it look like everything is fine. I have control of all the cameras, alarms as well as out going communications. Incoming Comms are on another line but I can do something about that shortly. Let's see what can I give you." He worked at the control he had biting his bottom lip softly as he worked.

He grinned, "No one can send anything out. Give me abit with sending anything in. I can blank the cameras and put up images of them working on their end. No one will see you. I can't do anything about gaurd rotations on my end. It'd be too sticky to do that." He clicked his way through what he had, "Top floors the objective. Get that back door in for me, and there won't be a hint of anything on there."

With several swipes of his fingers and clicks of the mouse he had a variety of applications open ready to go. Data miners warming up, viruses, malware and deadly like security killers. He could burn the servers out too with something his friends had cooked up recently. And he brought that up too, "Alright. Let's do this, I have the cameras ready to go. I can shut them down in sequence as you go."

"With pleasure"

There was something off about this building Lancaster felt, something that just wasn't right. On a personal level it was the emptiness of the factory; here it could have been a office complex, where a several dozen employees would work overtime for a minimum-wage pay, filling up George's personal bank account in Switzerland, and it saddened him for its waste.

That, and the fact it was dirty.

On a professional level, he registered a low buzzing sound coming from upstairs, accompanied by boots walking back and forth. It was logical that they had kept the ground floor empty, so as to try keeping the illusion of an empty factory intact. And if anyone was to enter, they could come down and force them away from the premises, which was exactly what was going to happen now as George heard the footsteps heading down a pair of stairs. -"Who is it? This is a restricted area, you can't just waltz in like tha..." was all the man approaching George could say before George pull up the piece of paper.

"Quite the contrary, my good Sir, quite the contrary. I just bought this lovely piece of land, so I do think You are the intruder." George had the largest smirk on his face as the man stared silently at him, finally taking the paper and looking at it. The man was of what one would call 'average appearance' for the area. Middle Eastern or Mediterranean origin, long hair and beards, nothing noteworthy.

-"There must be some kind of mix-up, mister..."

"Lancaster. Victor Lancaster, really nice to meet you!"

-"...right, Mister Lancaster...Would you mind joining me upstairs? I need my colleagues to check the our papers and yours, this can't be right."

"Be my guest, quite literally, I have all the time in the world."

The two men proceeded upstairs to what looked like some sort of office, only with fewer people and more Spartan interior. The group consisted of eight men, George's first encounter included, all eyeballing him before seemingly going back to work. -"Sorry for the harsh welcome downstairs, we've had quite a hard month. I'm Girisha Toor, and this is the...simple HQ of Toor Tech-Support Inc.

"You have a tech support company, stored away on the first floor of an abandoned factory? Which you do not legally own yourself?"

-"...Fine...we don't actually own this place, but it's been empty for as long as I've lived here, and it seemed like a good place to run this company. Truth is that pretend to be located in India so...It's a really long story, mister, and I guess you don't want to hear it all."

"All I want is for you to leave the factory by the end of the week, and I won't call the police...but I'll gladly take some shares in your company though."

-"But...why? We've already left by the time I can arrange that, and we don't even earn that much!"

"Think of it as rent, okay? I'm sure you can manage to pay few percent of your income. £49.99 to £86.14, or whatever you trigger-happy bomb-belt wearing turban Jihadists get from uncle Osama back home?"

The room went dead silent as George uttered those lasts words. The others around George and 'Girisha' looked at each other for what felt like an eternity, before George spoke again. "Did I say something wrong?" One of the men suddenly pulled a knife out from his shirt and took a stab at George, who effortlessly grabbed the terrorists arm and threw him forward to the wall. One down, a handful of goat shaggers to go.

Cassie sneaked her way to the entrance of the facility. But before she busted in, Cassie planted her rear foot down. She looked around to see if anyone came snooping by and minding her business. Lucky that nobody was. Cassie pulled the door open very quietly, sauntering inside and pressing herself against the wall underneath the cover of the shadows. She stepped lightly, her emerald colored eyes scanning ahead for any enemies. This shouldn't be too hard though, Cassie had done many of these sorts of operations in her career before. This was just a run-of-the-mill infiltrate, extract, and get the fuck out. Nothing special. Cassie had her gun clutched between her hands, finding her way to the server room. Cassie really wanted to keep quiet. She knew that her higher-ups were watching through the contact lens she had on her eye. A bit creepy, but it was technology. Unknowingly, Cassie stepped out in front of a hall way with a security guard walking down it.

He had spotted her and pulled out his Glock. "Hey! Who goes there?" Cassie froze in her steps, mid step in her sneaky sneaky walk. She pivoted to the security guard with her Beretta pointed down. Now, Cassie had two options since she was in deep shit. Either she went for it, or she surrendered. But, being the kind of person Cassie was, she always chose the more physical answer. She lunged at the security guard, grabbing his gun and pointing it away from her as a shot rang out. Her heart sank even more as she dealt with the security guard. She was quick to hide him inside a broom closet of sorts, before hiding in there herself and reporting in. "Liberty here, we've got a problem."

Kingmaker looked out the window, as the helicopter came in to land, watching Cassie's feed, watching her single-handedly land like a fucking boss, kicking over a guard on the roof, before then moving in. She was good at this, Martin reminded himself. Liberty could do one hell of a lot of damage, but he knew she had to be controlled, and not completely let off like a loose cannon, killing everything in sight. She was moving in, and from what he could see, she was moving tactically and precisely, like a black cat.
"Understood, Liberty. Bugcatcher, keep things on the straight and narrow, keep watching."

-------

Thom watched on, getting ready to fire on anything that moved, covering Lancaster inside. He knew that the other agent would have this under control, and would be able to take these motherfuckers apart one by one, he was skilled at it, and would not stop at anything, no doubt.
"Shit, I see a runner!" Thom said, as he sent a burst down range from the PDW, clipping the terrorist in his sights, as he moved around, heading through the gates with his usual low profile, taking the man down with a simple burst, as he moved around, the suited individual adjusting his position to behind a pile of rubble, continuing to observe as the noise of gunfire could be heard inside, as well as several very dead terrorists.
"Okay, keep going, we have nothing out here, do what you do best!"

-----------

Kingmaker looked over at Cassie's feed once more, looking over, as he saw her take down the guard, then add a panicked response.
"Shit, I see it. Okay, move fast. Get the back door installed, and get out. Bugcatcher, talk her through this one. I want eyes, if a single detail moves up the stairs, you bail from that building and don't make a sound. Remember your plan, and go to Plan B if you only have to. Let's not make this a big deal." Martin simply said,
"If you have to, Bugcatcher, use non-lethal means to confuse them. Sprinklers, " Martin finished that transmission, but it was not before his his headset buzzed. It was a different frequency picking in, and it would only ever happen if it were urgent. Martin could tell it wasn't a good thing at all, this was a spanner in the works waiting to be heard..

"This is Post Zulu, we've got radio traffic from the City Airport intercepted, we've got an unidentified quadrotor UAV in the air, closing in on your target building! We're working on it's identity, stand by!" The man on the other end was panicky, as he heard the individual go over it, Post Zulu being a listening station run by GCHQ in London, to intercept radio transmissions. It was a support asset, and not expected to be involved...but Martin could have guessed that it was of a priority to a listening station such as theirs to be on a need to know basis, and let them know when they saw something out of the ordinary.
"They're not ours....fuck, Bugcatcher, get onto it, we've got a separate intrusion...those drones aren't on their network!" Martin simply said on his own channel for the second part of his sentence, as he looked across at the MI6 building, as the helicopter came into land, Martin aleady opening the door.
"If you tell me they're armed, then someone is looking to do damage recovery work...Liberty, get whatever the hell you are doing and get out of there, double time!" He added, looking out as he stepped out of the helicopter, quickly. He had to make his way to Bugcatcher's office, and he knew full well that what was happening now could be anything. This wasn't the building security, this was someone looking to knock out something in the building.

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

The drone operator sat in a park, looking down at the tablet he had in his hands. The man was of a Central Asian decent, and he had simply been paid to run the drone, from this position, into restricted airspace. He was simply told to fly it to the target building, and using it's armament, disable the network that his employers wanted gone. No back doors, merely to send a message to them, that their branch was marked for execution. He was a former inteligence operative, his dark tanned skin of an Iranian origin, and service in the country something he remembered. But this was not for them, it was far deeper than that. It was a chance. Manoeuvring the drone, he engaged the FLIR cameras and saw in on the guards, knowing it's payload was far more than just observation cameras. Once this was done, he would leave, and the people that had the server would realize that they were being punished for their failings to protect a man that ought to have never been taken. And now, he was close, closer than ever to getting his job done, as he put his hood up.