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<<span class="mu-b">"Poor girl is going to get herself killed."</span>> "I believe we can come to an...agreement on this. What sort of jobs do you tend to do?" She puts her hands on her knees. Her eyes seem to stare past you and into something deeper. <span class="mu-b">Like she's trying to judge every bit of you she can see. Like an arbiter or adjudicator.</span>
<<span class="mu-b">"She might be a good replacement for my title, if given the right push."</span>> "Yes, yes. This will work. Go on, tell me."
"Well, I do a little bit of everything. I did a hit not too long ago on a gang, I did some investigation work, I saved someone who was kidnapped? Stuff like that."
"What gang?" This instantly catches her interest for some reason.
"...Ace Strikers?"
She's silent at first. She offers you a handshake almost immediately. "Thank you. I told them that one day, karma would rest on top of their head. Even if you only killed a few, that is enough for me." You return the handshake. Her skin is dry, cracked, and frankly threatening to fall apart at any second. <span class="mu-b">Old age and a lifetime of scars has pushed her body well past the limits.</span>
"Eugh." You pull back your hand when you feel how fucked her skin is. A gentle laugh drifts out of Naomi. "Fair enough. I usually have my bandages on but I wanted to feel the fresh air today."
"Tell you what. I shall come along on any mission you desire for a simple price of $195. I believe that is fair enough for my presence." She pauses. "I will try my best to teach you and any other friends you have all I know if you do bring me along."
"Duly noted. Do you have any contact info?" You get handed a small napkin with a number written on it. You assume this is her number, so you stuff it in your pocket. "Thank you. See you later."
"See you. Now, back to my tea." She goes back to enjoying her black tea. No sugar, no cream, nothing. Pitch black. Absolutely psychopathic. Eh, you half kid. You decide to check up on the other person you were interested in-
<span class="mu-s">"LISTEN HERE YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKER!"</span> The man in the tactical gear yells at the top of his lungs into the tinny speaker of his walkie talkie. The rest of the patrons in the small bar are looking at him with equal parts fear and annoyance. "I fucking told you, we can't do this shit on the GOD DAMN fly! Everything has a PLAN to it and you can't just FUCK THAT AROUND WILLY NILLY!"
He damn near cracks the table with his left hand with how hard he's gripping it. "I don't care what Bennett says. You listen to MY orders when you're doing MY jobs for me. If I hear one more fuck up from you, I'm cutting your GOD DAMN nuts off. Alright?"
There's silence on the line, followed by a half hearted apology from whoever's on the other side. Then it goes fully quiet. The man huffs, slapping the walkie talkie onto his chest. <<span class="mu-b">"Oh great, some schizo bitch is approaching me. Get the pepper spray ready, Frank..."</span>>
