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Curling up in her chair somewhere else, TS Liren screams a few choice curses as a few hundred decibel of sensor-noise and ECCM countermeasures politely feeds itself right into her Area Scan. The little noise-grenade on the ground smiles. It can actually do that. Someone's taken the time to stencil a little smiling gremlin on it.
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Agent WeebSamurai moves confidently towards the market, the taste of glorious tea and justice on his lips. Marlene and Marty watch the polite young man go. He doesn't quite get far. A brawl has broken out.
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Agent Thorn and Agent Cheddar watch as Subject FETCH eats. And eats. And eats. And eats. And eats. And then - finally - having made up for weeks of calorie-deficiency in one enormous intake, curls up, closes its intense eyes, and dozes off.
The mushrooms here are novel. Specialist Japanese imports, stained by the radio-active fallout of nuclear accidents. That's not intentional and the producer doesn't talk about it, but Thorns' scanner picks it up. Paydirt.
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Blackwater Brigadiers pour into their established control zones, guns out and smiles on. Agent Fold tries to deputize them, but they're not going to work for no GOVERNEMNT STOOGE you FOOL-- oh sorry was that 'license to beat people up'? Oh yeah. Oh yeah they're in. They're so in.
One shouts for his buddies to "APPREMEND THAT GUYS KNEES", but with the full auto fire dying down and a very dead marketing reptile staring at them, they're distracted. Two men politely activate their mesh-optics and pop like soapbubbles, derezzing out of sight.
Agent Fold grabs for a third man, who, brief contact being made, rolls away in a dust cloud and disappears.
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Agent Vennfield, up top, watches his handywork. Good distraction. Cheddar's flitdrone beeps a sudden warning and on instinct he throws himself low - then a bullet smacks into the place his head used to occupy.
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TS Devonshire briefly considers lasting a piece of plastic marketing material, but after taking 120+ shots from a Blackwater Brigade Barrage, it seems... deader than most marketing material.
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Agent Monarch finally escapes his college lecture, and along with Butterfly and Mammoth grab some Tacfilters and get inured against biohazards. Breathing is a little hard through the mask as the world takes on a sterile mein, but the peace of mind? Priceless.
Agent Mammoth restocks his tacticals.
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Mr. Soap offers some insight. Some of it is useful. Some of it is out of date.
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Agent Serval encounters a headache and a moral dilemma. A man covered in blackbean basedsauce stares, pitifully. The NDLE drones lock hands. No no. He tried to turn them off. *He stays*. They've still got so, so many free samples to feed him. He can go when he has learned his lesson. A few weeks from now.
But you can go, Mr. Agent.
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>Agents to roam
>Watch your back!
