Editing Trust No One

In the office of a remote warehouse, a single lightbulb swung slowly over an old kitchen table, with peeling formica. Scattered across the surface were several maps and handwritten notes, weighed down by a couple of starlight scopes and sub-vocal mikes. A man and a woman looked up from the table as the sound of tires crunching on gravel rang out in the silence.

A heavy fist pounded down on the table, "Dammit, Jeanne, you were followed here!" 

Before she could reply, A heavyset figure in the shadow loaded a shotgun and growled, "Quick bitching at her, Hank, at pass me those grenades."

With a flash of long red hair, Jeanne grabbed a headset, mumbled an apology, and made for the back door.


--[[Hank goes to cover the front entrance]]
--[[Hank goes to cover the back entrance]]