Somewhere in the Swiss Alps
"La Serpentine"
1500 Hours

The "La Serpentine" facility was a rather incognito one- most people would barely make it out in the high and snowy Swiss mountains, nestled in a valley above a large reservoir and among a set of mountain glaciers, peaks and ridges south of Arolla and Lac des Dix on the mountain that bore its namesake. Most tourists that might have seen the small anomaly in that landscape from afar would have guessed the short slope-level inclined runway and small concrete structure next to it belonged to a billionaire's private lair, another random concrete bomb shelter like all the other random ones Switzerland had, or something like that- but to the team of Foxtrot Oscar, it was their home that they had out of harm's way that allowed them to deploy to much of the world. There was a tiny road through the ice and snow that led to a service route on the Lac des Dix, but getting up here was half the challenge- if you weren't stopped by an array of gates, the hairpins might bore you half to death, as might the fact that any visitors could be seen coming from a mile away.

The facility itself was a fairly plush one- a renovated mining complex, previously left to rot before FO's arrival. The main feature was an incredibly short and tight tarmac runway laid out ontop of an existing gravel one on the facility's tiny precipice- barely large enough to let a light aircraft land given it was barely longer than the length of an aircraft carrier's deck, but more specifically, it helped a V-22 Osprey and a handful of fast jets use it as a stopping point and a supporting role for whenever Foxtrot Oscar needed more firepower than the team of six that were normally sent out. Beyond the runway, the concrete structure was only a fascia- the mining control room and supply rooms ripped out and replaced with living quarters, including a living room that looked out of a large open panoramic window of the mountain scene the base faced onto, flanked by a gym, a pool, rooms and a tactical briefing room. A very cosy lounge, with a full bar, sofas and beanbags helped with making this place feel "lived in", rather than purely for function. A very specific decision by Skye- they weren't Spartans, they were gonna be here for a long time, and good decor cost....actually, about £50K, so she spent it to get the work done. When you're the one calling the shots, you get to be an interior decorator, right?

Beyond that however, the appearance of a typical bilionaire's weird holiday retreat changed into a facility built into the mine, built into the granite walls that once housed mineshaft and larger storerooms. Antoher twelve support staff roamed in this area, looking after a small motorpool, an weapons range and armoury built into a particularly long tunnel of the mine, another pair of briefing rooms, a server system, alongside a VR training facility and a whole heap of shoothouses, training rooms and facilities right at the back. Perfect for testing each of the operatives in any kind of environment, virtual or half-real. After all, new tech came in all the time- and honing skills in that place was how they got so damn good. The team specialising in so many different ways meant that sometimes Skye wanted to see how it all sowed together- and right at the furthest, deepest cavern of the mine was where that happened. Oh yeah, and of course, Fight Cavern. The place to see some poor new recruit, or prospect get kicked the shit out of them before being offered entry into The Devil's Cooker. First rule of Fight Cavern is that you don't remember how you got to Fight Cavern....

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The figure of Skye on base was remarkably casual for the team lead, the red-haired Scottish CO of Foxtrot Oscar wearing an old-school navy-coloured "Slayer" T-shirt with a pair of navy jeans, a pair of rounded sunglasses finishing the look of the fiery and fierce person that kept the team in check. Death metal was her shit, though you wouldn't think it beyond all the highland fiddle and softly-softly stuff she normally listened to. Her FNX at her side as per always, the team lead never seemed out of pace no matter what environment she was in spite of her casual Friday look. Heading up the stairs into the main lounge, she could see the team's resident Dutchman, and a handful of others about, enjoying R&R after their eventful last op. It could have gone much smoother, but all things considered, they'd done a good job. Extracted the Colombian president from being kidnapped by a drug cartel, without it even making the news he'd left his villa. A brow of sweat wiped off everyone's head. But that was just another Wednesday for FO- and for Skye, an annoying recurrence. Looking to the team's parkour and general spiderman, a shitty plan came to mind, as she walked over, noticing him snoring away on the sofa.

"Sam! Get the fuck up!" She yelled as she slammed the table, the Dutchman waking from sleep with a yelping jolt, the bong falling off his knees and smashing on the floor, the Scotswoman trying to hold back the chuckle in just as she crashed down on the sofa, the sight of his face changing from fear, to shock, to annoyance painting everything the Scot wanted to get.

"Why'd you do that?" He asked, Skye shrugging as she inspected his weed over that was on the floor, having a look through.
"That is an utterly pish-shite grade. I dunno, mebbe don't fucking fall asleep stoned or something when your boss is on site? You get nightmares, remember?" Her sultry Scots cut back, making her almost giggle more at the sight of it all.
"Yeah, but ever since we took back that Colombian last week, you know how fucking hard it is to get good weed? Like, I can't even do mail order from Colorado anymore! Shit...sorry." Sam replied, Skye shrugging, sitting down opposite on the next red sofa, feet up, sunglasses off as she giggled, shrugging her shoulders. He wasn't a happy bunny, but he'd calm down soon enough.

"Yeah, well maybe you shouldn't smoke weed anyway in a highly secure facility where we have a zero drugs tolerance policy? I mean, if you get drugs tested...you seriously think I'd piss in a cup so you avoid getting booted?" Skye retorted, Sam chuckling in reply, grinning.
"Maybe 'cos you love me enough you would. Where you gonna find a guy who does what I do with my professional standards, eh?" Sam added, giggling in retort as he got his grass back together, scooping it back onto the table and sighing, Skye not sure how to reply.
"The fucking things we do to keep us together....so long as you do what you do best and don't make my job too fucking difficult, I couldn't give a shit what it takes to keep you on side. Fucking give me strength sometimes though, Sam..." She mustered up, standing up and heading to the tabletop in the lounge, grabbing a bottle from the cooler, a dulled Highland Whisky she had very much gotten into of late and had no second thoughts in pouring.

She rarely found herself on base sitting about doing nothing, but given her body had physically given up after her last round of running and swimming, a glass of fine whisky would do her joy for the moment, as she went back to the sofa, legs up, sipping down the liquor as neat as she could. The rest of the team might come by soon, or be out on their activities, wherever they may be.
"The whisky a part of that leadership method, Miss Mason?" Sam asked, putting a neat blunt together, well, out of whatever was left of the weed from the bong, and looking to get that down his system.

"Fuckin' course it is." Skye replied smoothly, sipping the braveheart juice to heart's content.

A mountain over, Eight kilotmeters abouts, from "La Serpentine"

A broad tall man carefully picks his way through the mountain stone and forests of the Swiss Alps. At about nine hundred meters up the mountain. The man hums, kneeling and looking at what looks like undisturbed ground. He sniffs and reaches down pushing some grass aside, "Hmmm there you are..." A paw print and about a handsbreadth away scat. He nods, "Not all that big are you, claws...digits." He nods then leans down and yep takes a long whiff of the scat, "Swedish Fox, about four years old, or so. Hmmm a little heavy on the front paws." He squats himself over the paw print and looks along the barely visible game trail it's following, "What are you looking for I wonder...you're headed along the woods...let's follow you..." With that the buckskin and leather clad man disappeared into the forest.

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Back at La Serpentine

Sargeant Major Dwali, "Has anyone seen Jacobs? He reported in and he's not in Mess or his room. Anyone?" A grunt ran by carrying a crate, "Sir he was last seen near entrance eight." Dwali blinks, "No one was supposed to leave, what the hell?" Dwali and a small group of soldiers ran to the door, finding it open and allowing access to the outside. Dwali, "Shit we may have a breach! The guy who bit one of our handlers got out." They are turning and starting to discuss their options when they hear a deep kind voice, "What's wrong?" The group of FO soldiers turn to see the big man Zurvan Jacobs standing there, a young red furred fox curled up around his neck, Zurvan petting the foxes dark head. The fox letting out a little foxy chuckle as it watches then. Zurvan grins as he turns to head back into the base, "You may want to close that door gentlemen." He disappears around a corner just then, a soft laugh sounding and ringing down the corridor.

Soon though he's entering the Main Lounge, feeding the fox pieces of bacon that he had just filched from the mess, while the fox got bacon, he got bits of cheese he had again just filched. He looks about the lounge with a smile. The fox giving a brief chitter, asking for more food. Which Zurvan gladly gives. He hums and spots Bakker and Mason. Queen and Lion are their callsigns, Just as he had claimed Shaman for his own. With a ready smile he picks his way over to the two, sniffing the air as he does, "Hmmm a fine breed that one. Can still smell it on the air, something...fruity? No it's spicy almost." He nods, "Good afternoon to you two." He bows his head to them, standing at the table before them. Casually feeding the chittering and laughing fox as he stands there.

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Somewhere ABOVE the Swiss Alps
Soaring like a fuckin' hawk…
14:30 Hours

"60 seconds."

The tiny speck of a black figure flying through the air paid only the littlest of attention to the computerized voice telling the time. Sure, it was a good warning to receive for someone falling like a sack of potatoes throught the air above the mountainous region of Switzerland, but this black-clad figure wasn't falling; She was gliding. Like the "La Serpentine" fascility which the gliding was aiming for, her presence up in the sky wouldn't raise to many brows. Perhaps they should, certainly they should.

Astrid was gliding at speeds that normally would fuck your brains out. She, on the other hand, was the one doing the fucking. Figuratively.

"30 seconds. Prepare parachute."

Astrid's winged suit allowed for her to continue her descent, gliding towards a Swiss cliffside. To the untrained eye, the winged woman looked as if she'd hit the side of the mountain and become a Norwegian pastry. They would be wrong. Astrid raised her right wing, lowering the left, and instantly changed course, the g-forces jiggling through her gliding suit as she soared leftward of the mountainside and barely clipping the treetops that her descent brought her to. Astrid smirked to herself, her LZ in sight a brisk distance ahead of her.

"20 seconds till impact. Eject parachute now."

"Rookie numbers, Clair, rookie numbers."

The winged Norwegian assassin continued to glide effortlessly through the air, her black siluette now becoming visible to anyone standing guard inside the secret military fascility cleverly disguised as some Swedish Hollywood wife's L.A. mansion. This was her way of pushing herself to the limit. After all, she had been brought into Foxtrot Oscar for a reason, besides her great looks and killer skills. Infiltration into extremely hostile territory was one of them.

"10 seconds till impact. Eject parachute NOW."

Coming into sight, Astrid's eyes locked onto a small circle marked on the grassy parts of Foxtror Oscar's runway, continuing to smirk as the computerized voice was about to warn Astrid again. Finally she ejected her parachute, decelerating rapidly and gently adjusting the parachute as she guided herself to the middle of the circle, like some high-precision ICBM fired from a British nuclear submarine, only more gracious. Her feet landed at just their mark, her landing catching the attention of several armed guards who rushed to tell her she had not been cleared for landing, only for Astrid to remove her helmet and waving her red-blue hair at them.

"I know you guys are impressed, buuuut…unlike you, I've got places to be and people to eliminate with my killer looks. Catch you later, you won't see me coming."

1502 Hours

"So Jacobs, what does the fox say?" Astrid asked the first person (and fox) she saw as she followed suit into the lounge, now newly-dressed and hair washed after a safe flight. The Norwegian stepped around their resident First-Nations Canadian, giving the fox a quick smile as she judged its natural beauty as well as thinking back to when she'd shot her first with a .22 back home. That thing was still in the freezer, somewhere below all that mutton cranberries. To the two others, the Scottish claymore and Dutch stoner, Astrid waved cheerily and throwing herself into an empty couch. "Good evening, ladies and gents. Nice day for flying, or what you think? I know. What's the situation, Skye? Need me to give the Dutch clog a kick up the ass?"

Skye's initial concerns with Sam almost felt like they doubled with Zurvan coming in with....holy shit, was that a fox? He had a way of making friends...and the fox looked tame, as if the big man's presence itself calmed it down to a complete stop rather than its' ordinary hyperactive movement, waving across to him and his fox.
"Awww...now that is cute, Zurvan. Looks almost like you want to fit in with all the redheads or something? Good to have you back." Skye remarked, using her whisky glass to remark out, sitting up on the sofa as Sam looked across, a little disgusted, given that while his fox was cute....well, he felt a little triggered.

"What, so Bruce Almighty here can bring a fox, but we can't have puppies on base? Oh, and yes, Zurvan- this weed is the best we get now. Not even proper zest to it, schmoking this is a fucking joke." It got a reciving glance from Skye, with a distinct sigh, almost as if the youngest member of the team was just asking for this shit.
"Yeah, because Zurvan doesn't keep his guests permenently. Or at least, in a method that means I don't know anything about them, now do I? For a guy that murders people in the shadows, subtlety isn't your specialism." She replied, a sharp tone cutting to Sam that he rather drop back his line of enquiry before sipping the rest of her whisky down with a delightful swig, wiping her brow.

Leaving her glass at the table, she walked up to the tall First-Nations giant of the team, and the fox chittering and sqeaking away, as if to almost chat with him.
"Aren't you a playful little thing?" It was a mystical talent, but no less impressive, as Skye gave a playful brush of the fox's coat, to an awful lot more chittering, before being interrupted by the other sight and sound of black fabric outside filling the view, before a small black figure landed right in front of the lounge's window. Ah yeah, Astrid had gone out wingsuiting again. Right. And boy, was she getting lower every time she pitched. A sign she was getting bored of not doing anything on base, Skye resolved.

Within a few minutes Astrid had come in after changing her stuff over, enough time for Skye to give the Zurvan's fox a few more strokes and a playful smile, the team leader easy-going enough to be distracted by the cute fox Zurvan had tamed while waving back to Astrid. The sight of the red and blue haired Norwegian coming in and crashing on a sofa was almost a reminder to Skye- her and Sam were almost diametric opposites for light operatives, one in wintery, long-range and sniping-based roles, while the other was a close range, runner and urban warfare specialist. One could crush your windpipe and the other would slice it open. But they worked alright, and did what they did best, though arguably, were the most dysfunctional part of the team for it. The Scottish operative turned to have a look out the window, finding her own seat by Sam again, before turning her attention back to Astrid.

"Glad to hear you enjoyed yourself- bluebird day, so it was either that or you'd have gone skiing, love. Nothing much to report on that front, Astrid. Mostly post-op mop-up. Considering that El Presidente Alvarez isn't dead, and quite a lot more FARC than I intially thought are, so just a few loose ends. Luckily we don't have to deal with a lot of the usual red-tape a SOF team deals with, so it's onto the next clusterfuck, eh?" She retorted, sitting up and heading back to the lounge, realising she had another comment to make- one she made after pouring a half-measure of whisky, pouring another full one for Zurvan and Astrid, and passing it over to them both.
"Here. This shit is a vintage, so you aren't asking if you want it. To a good job done, hey?" Skye said, raising her glass, not for a proper toast but a litle tipple while they were all here.

"Oh, and Sam, Astrid- and I'm not gonna let you two kick the shit out of each other in the Cavern again, dammit, that was a lot of extra fucking paperwork and needless broken ribs."
"We really fucking went at it, you have to admit that, right Skye? Astrid's fat bu.." Sam commented, Skye almost spitting as she heard it, chuckling and interrupting straight away. Kid had some balls, she'll give him that.
"Get a fucking room if you're gonna do that, you two. And get some more protection than you had last time, if you're gonna fight, or else I'll show you just how seriously I feel about venting my anger about paperwork to the team. You want a Mason special on the lake, till you pass out?" Skye replied, sipping whisky in response with her witted and sly response, as veiled a threat as it could be- the Dutchman not often left speechless, but forced to conceed the point, sighing as he finished up with the blunt he was making. He would provoke shit like that sometimes, being a merc, he worked with that often- Skye, not so much. The Scottish lady put the bottle of fine vintage back away, before looking across to the three, her motherly disposition needed to keep this wild gang together.

"That's what I fucking thought. So we're basically on R&R till tomorrow evening. Oracle is keeping me in the loop on a potential Black Flag facility on Crete, something our inteligence friends gathered that we might find ourselves putting a hole in. Till then, try not to kill each other, yeah?"

Zurvan smiled, and leaned his head to the side after Astrid spoke, as if listening to the fox chittering as if it's speaking. He nods a few times his face taking on a serious expression. He then looks dead into Astrid's eyes, face straight and deadpans,
"She says that meme is dead, it's bad and you should feel bad for making it." He holds Astrid's gaze for another few moments, face still straight as a ruler. He keeps this face the whole time until the fox breaks the moment by wacking Zurvan in the face with that big fluffy tail, "Blah pftt! You little! Ahhh I have fur in my mouth! Fur!"

By the tim the tail is out of his face Skye has stepped up to pet the red, white and black furred creature. The fox letting out yips and chatters of joy. the Fox even leaned way out and nipped at Skye's fingers tail flipping about happily. Zurvan chuckled, "You're going to have a big fan here if you keep that up young lady." The big man says. He leans his head back to avoid the tail almost fwaping his head again.

Zurvan grins as Skye pets the Fox, "I can neither confirm nor deny that some of my wild friends stay in my room for spans of time. That hawk only stayed a day or two. That bear cub left on her own, after a few hours. I'll say nothing of the wolf that stayed for a few days. Creator help me he was a wonderful pillow. Oh...oh dear..." He looks around conspiratorially, "I didn't mean to admit that." He chuckles and sits himself down at one end of the padded bench.

Again he nods, "So a little Rest and Recovery huh? Alright. I can go with that. What's this about Crete? Who's causing trouble this time?" He narrows his eyes, and plays with the fox with one hand idly. Well at first before he gets wapped in the face a second time, "Ahhh you little! so much fur!"

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"Next clusterfuck? What do you mean, it wasn't as if there wouldn't be that many FARC-fucks guarding a rebel military installation, protecting the President of Colombia, right? You make it sound like we did a bad job, when I wasn't the one to get spotted by that guard in the outhouse…Sam?" Astrid's playful words flew as effortlessy as the red-blue haired assassin had flown into the empty couch, laying down like a sack of attractive potatoes as Skye the Scotswoman answered her. With a newly-given glass of proper Scotch, Astrid put her tounge out to Sam the Dutchman. Yeah, he was an idiot and an asshat, but he was still good at his job. It wasn't as if she herself hadn't fucked up once or twice, but damn she still had more experience that little clog.

"Skål for us, indeed."

Astrid had to force herself not to snort out the Scotch through her nose at Sam's mention of her ass, more so out of laughter than of anger. In the end the Norwegian swallowed it hard, a single tear running from her eye as she began to laugh. "My fatt ass is what you kept staring at while I kicked yours, okay? It was worth that rib, at least I got some bones in my nose unlike you coke-snorting tulip." She quickly commented, hoping to avoid Skye's anger as she listened to Zurvan's fox answer…

"Too late and too bad, old man, I already did the meme. Meme is life!" Astrid bantered on, holding back her laughter as Zurvan got the fox's ass in his mouth, full of hair. Oh they were a fucked up group of operatives, but perhaps that was why they got shit done? Anyway, according to Skye they had more time for R&R before a potential mission on Crete. "A little Mediteranian all-inclusive vacation? Sign me up, I desperately need some more sunbathing. And no, Sam, I'm not going to the Nudist colony, so keep your cock to yourself. But seriously, like Fox-Man said, what do we know? I take it we're not going after some street-vendor selling diarrea gyros to fat German tourists?"

"I only imagine I might..." Skye added, chuckling as she gave the fox one last fluff, before going back to the table, watching as it swung it's tail playfully into Zurvan's gob, a sight that couldn't stop Skye from chuckling. As mature as she was, it was hte little things to her, she just felt it was human and in an environment like this, it came with the territory to enjoy what you did more than overthinking it.

Sam gave the middle finger back to Astrid, a bit drier yet happy to let that go- knowing full well the boss was watching with both eyes squarely at him and Astrid...
"Yeah, yeah, try growing up and living in Rotterdam, Gungnir..." He said, quietening his tone as he took the blunt and lit it, gently inhaling as he leaned back in the chair, taking a bit on board before he replied.

"And uhh, let's just leave it at the fact that you were the one that took him to hell in a fucking cell by suckering him into the septic tank! Ever heard of murdering people more quietly?" Sam replied, taking another strong hit as he sucked it in, chilling back, aware he wasn't gonna come back again.

Just let it go, because fuck it, he knew he'd done his job just like Astrid had- the Dutchman giggling a little to Astrid, shrugging about it all to show he was letting back. Perhaps not perfectly, but then again, Skye had a point- there WERE a lot more than they expected to be interfering with there, and well, most other SOF teams just couldn't done what they had done. Extracting a high value target with a shitload of guards, with a speed and precision that most just didn't have.

Skye only sighed in response to the two, giving an ice cold stare to both Sam and Astrid, almost of disapointment, but more to just kill off whatever they were they were chittering away about, the fox almost seeming to Skye like the more responsible of the three kits here right now. Like the mum she was, she had enough of their shit- and the look in her eyes, sharp as it was like a shard of glass, seemed to very much illustrate her thoughts. She finished the glass, gently washing it out under the sink, taking her gaze off to just give them a moment to reengage. Zurvan's funny admission made her chuckle a little- he was always the underrated team member, more subtle but a goldmine nonetheless. Easier than the other two that was for sure, but still, his own breed beyond all the animals he had brought in. Their reference to the meme even got a chuckle out of Skye, a crack she didn't at all mind showing especially with how much a liking the fox had to the Scottish woman- something that came before refocussing on all their questions.

"Quiet, you two. The holiday's not entirely all inclusive, I'll put it that way. Fairly fucking heavy, actually. And well, we don't know who exactly Black Flag are sending. What we do know though..." Astrid said, sitting up on one of the stools in the kitchen area, perching up to look to the three before she continued.

"Is that they have a Yasen-class nuclear submarine in their possession allegedly heading to a meeting at an old Nazi U-Boat facility on the island. I'm not making that shit up. Yes, I know, a fucking nuclear, Russian fourth-generation piece of advanced naval technology in their possession. Codenamed the "Lost Ash", it's something that our handler kept an eye on- I mean, it ain't a fucking set of car keys, now is it? And here we were thinking those fucking Russians were good at getting their property back themselves..." Skye started, sighing as she knew a little more than the team needed to know right now, but she never held back on telling. After all, these were the people who might die for her- as she would for them, and transparancy went a long way in that.

"The sub basically corresponds to a terror attack about a month ago where Severomorsk got raided in a pretty scary chemcial attack our friends in Russia covered up to pretty much every intelligence community out there- they call it "damage control" to stop anyone thinking their potential has been affected. Bad move, because they forgot to mention that a certain group of mysterious, well backed anrcho-terrorists now have an actual nuclear submarine, with actual fucking cruise missiles aboard it- and only now, the Russians tell us they're direly fucked- their own intelligence agencies are probably comprimised too they think. It's a shitshow." Skye's optimism rarely took a dink like that, but well, she wasn't a Queen for nothing- she told her people exactly what went down, and why.

"Anyway, right now they've got zero proper navigational guidance for any weapons system natively installed and are likely running with a crew of absolute retards who got it out of port....but they sub get that jury-rigged to GLASNOST or GPS, get restocked with enough specialists to figure that thing out beyond just sailing the seven seas, like those cruise missiles and the nuclear fuel on board? Bad fucking day at the office for Athens, Rome or Istanbul." Skye added, shaking her head, tapping the desk.

"So things really are fucked. But same time, it's a good opportunity to sabotage a serious element of Black Flag in one go. Cut a lot of snakeheads off, and maybe gain some intel on who actually orchestrated the...." Almost as if on cue, Skye's phone buzzed, the CO looking and seeing Oracle's tag flash up.

"Shit, sorry, gotta take this. But yeah, till we know more, we'll sit tight until we can do something about it." She replied hastily, taking the call and leaving the room to talk, Sam looking across to the other two. She was good at hiding things, but that was a clear, clear tell that she had a call from their boss's boss. Meaning, their conversation mere minutes ago for rest was now gone to shit.

"I can't belive our fuckin R&R just got cut, again. Every fucking time, dammit!" Sam said, knowing full well that the team had already gone through this shit enough- it was almost textbook, especially when Skye went the way she did. They'd spent enough months as a team to see that already- that plan had very quickly gone to shit, and Sam probably voiced that for everyone, even though he knew full well they'd get on with the work.

"So, we taking bets on how serious this is gonna be? This sounds like Piri-Piri, hot spice...like, that ain't a courtesy call, and she knows it." Sam asked the other two, himself already trying to get more serious, even though he definitely was still a little baked.

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A few minutes later, and the scene on the team leader's face had gone from a playful description to a more concise, hardened look. The redhead had empathy for fucking the team's rest over, but then again, that was why they got paid- and also, why they were here, because they were on watch. And when Skye spoke, you listened- because it wasn't without reason that someone in the world had dialled the last emergency service.

"So, you know that thing I was just saying? Everyone, you've got thirty to sort your affairs- we'll catch up on holiday when the world doesn't want to go to shit....again. Grab your gear- Astrid, Sam, I need you to take rebreathers and quite a fair amount of explosives, diving kit and close quarters weaponry- you're gonna be possibly sorting the sub out. Zurvan, you're with me- standard assault setup for you for us to pin the facility in. We'll meet down by the vehicle pool, I'll get us briefed en route to theatre moment we know what's in play- it appears we have a window of opportunity with the LOst Ash. So let's fucking go, yeah?! Skye barked, the former Major not mincing a single word of what she had to say.

Sam kept his tongue locked down as he stood up, dropping the blunt and doing his best to get back to reality, one that would come right back down on the ride into theatre. The dark-haired Dutchman walked past, and headed for the armoury, very much aware that him and Astrid no doubt had a pretty fucking thrilling job on this op- but no less one to take seriously, and get done as professionally and cleanly as they could. The team may have been dysfunctional, but when it came to doing the job efficiently and effectively, there were no second-bests.

Zurvan gets the fox's tail out of his mouth finally as things go. He hums and smiles seeing his fluffy tailed friend getting the attention she deserves. The fox giggling and chuckling at scritches and the attention. He listens to this information on the sub and what the hell is going on down south. He nods, "Well isn't that just bull shit." He swats at the tail as the fox seems to find it amusing to swat him in the face. Getting a chuckle from it as he does, "I swear I'll turn you into a toque if you keep that up you hear me." The Fox giggles and then darts for an open window, looking back with a smile.

Zurvan is about to race after it when Skye returns. And he can see by the look on her face and the words she uses things have gone side ways.

His eyes narrow, and he nods, "Alright! Arsenal bound then." He's stomping off, business mode activated.

As they go a little red haired Irish fellow comes bustling down the hallway to the Arsenal. Colin O'Mulriain, Counter-Intell and Recon agent, Specialist 1st class with the FO Information Division. He comes to a slightly stumbling stop as he sees members of the Action team coming their way. He goes to Zurvan first, "Sir, Intell. just got the heads up on the new Operation. Anything I can do?" Zurvan looks over his shoulder at Skye then hums, "Se if you can't do a deep dive. See if there is anything else we're missing Colin. Names, dates, discretions, anything. Hell see if any of the people on that team we're going up against have bounties or something. Who knows we might be able to turn them in dead or alive for some extra scratch."

Colin nods and with a little skip step turns down a side passage to get back to the Intell. Division.

Soon Zurvan is pushing open the doors to the Arsenal, "Alright...show time." And walks over to his kit area. slipping first into the Smasher armor, "Hmmm yeah that's the way we do it."