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Agent Sunday's hands close around the key to Suite #13 and the fireplace roars to life with a soft pop. The shadows wink away like morning dew. Old Shaya smiles kindly and nods. Yes, oh, she recalls your booking now, it was placed with the new fangled eme eale her grandson helped her setup to promote her restful resort. All details are in order, party of Sin, Guerre, of course, of course.
Shall you be wanting breakfast or any additional arrangements? Please do take a swim in the lake, it is wonderful this time of year.
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Outside, the stand-off cools by degrees as Agents Etch and Agent Pocket hash the outline of a deal. Old Boris softens. The tight discipline of his hunters ease a little further, rifle barrels pointing elsewhere. Perhaps...
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TS Liren: Thermal bloom just faded from my sat, and I'm getting no odd extra signatures. Whatever that was, it's gone now, Agents. And I can see our mission trio back on the network. Let me run some filtering on that energy spike, that was really something. Some sort of resonance signature. Everyone in one piece?
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A wounded animal glares daggers at Agent Fiasco. But then, in its state, you too would glare at the world.
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>Agents. . . To go !
