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[ The rain is picking up again. You hear it thrum on the rooftops. Agent Inks rolls her weary eyes and digs for a thermos of coffee. Wretchedly empty. Nothing ever goes right. Holiday puffs his cigarette. The man's more serene than the distant mountaintops. Sniffs the air. Maybe its an affection. Hard to imagine he can smell much through such nicotine tinged senses.
Agent Inks lets you pile out of the car before she piles on the trouble. Something's wrong, yeah, you've already seen it, you've already worked out the clues, you've already . . . What is she gesturing at, exactly? Look around, check the scene, maybe that car, something here has to be what she thinks you'd already have seen coming in. ]
>Team Two. . . . to act?
