Mission One-'Opening Gambit'.

Charon shifts his position, slides his balisong into his pocket, and pulls out a small notepad, scribbles down a note, and drops it down to Garret. In Charon's characteristic bad hand writing is I'M PUTTING $20 ON THE DRUNK MEXICAN and a crude grinning smiley face. He then picks up a large bag of M&Ms from next to him and quietly opens the bag, slowly eating them one by one, waiting for something to happen.

Roland Chevalier was current sitting near Mendoza. Unlike her, however, the "Knight in Shining Kevlar" was reading. Honestly, he didn't care about the soccer game currently going on. He was reading the newspaper, and had been since the game started. The Frenchman had been up since the crack of dawn...not really doing much. Other than taking a shower, making breakfast, cleaning his revolver, and reading, of course.

His eyes moved from the paper he had been going over for the hundredth time, lighting upon Joker. Honestly, he was going to keep sitting here reading his paper no matter what was on the television, but hey. If this whole "Mendoza vs. Wade" thing went anywhere, it would certainly be much more entertaining than the paper.

"Action sports... What kind of action is it when they're not playing half the time. Not that it matters; I know you watch it for the cheerleaders anyway." Mendoza turns around abruptly as cheering comes out of the screen.

Garret frowns up at Charon. How stupid does that maniac think he is?
He shakes his head, then sits up, digging into his pocket for a cigarette.
Mendoza, leave the poor kid alone. There's a radio in the next room, Wade, if you're really intent on catching the score for that game. He pulls a fancy zippo from his pocket and lights up.

It is a pretty loud discussion amongst team members-typical, actually. When they0're not all banding up shooting something, when it's so long that boredom piles up, the warehouse becomes a powderkeg.

It is thankful, then, that things change.

One of the many laptops on the Warehouse beeps twice and shows the icon of an incoming E-Mail. This laptop, with its multiply-secured connection, is the team's main way to be contacted by potential clients.

Charon semi-gracefully drops down from the rafter and sprints to the computer, somehow not spilling any of his snacks. It has been way too long since he last had some entertainment and he would waste no time in finding some new fun.

Slow down there SSharon, the porn isn't going anywhere.

Jack Griswald was taking the afternoon off. While most would consider the past few weeks to be boring, it gave him an important chance to catch up on bookkeeping for the entire operation, making sure money got into the right pockets and that the next time they went out on a mission, there were actually bullets in the guns. So, today, he sat up in his room, silently mouthing every piece of dialogue from his favorite movie, Once Upon a Time in the West, watching as Jason Robards and Charles Bronson tracked Henry Fonda by rail. he had seen it a hundred times by now, and God willing, he'd see it a hundred more.

Of course, it was Jack Griswald's day off that a client decided to ring, forcing him to rise as he quickly tapped the puase button for his DVD player to check his laptop. He grabs it and heads downstairs to address his team, who hopefully hasn't killed each other yet from the lack of action.

"Look alive, ladies and gents. Seems we've got a nibble."

Jack plants himself near the nucleus of the group as he opens up his computer and looks through the new message.

Charon does a quick roll, again not spilling his snacks, and redirects himself to running toward the east tower, I'll get Thompson! he calls over his shoulder.
He quickly ascends the tower, stopping half-way for a handful of M&Ms,
Get back to reality, Quinn, we just got contacted!
Charon shouts, then returning to the rest of the group at a sprint, tripping slightly, turning his arrival into a slide, winding up flat on the floor by the center of the group, where he remains until he finishes his M&Ms, which at this point he is shoveling into his mouth.

The e-mail is small and concise, asking for the team to make contact in person on a cafe on the other side of town.

Standard Operating Procedure, obviously-those who ask for the Roughnecks would need to show their face, and convince the team that the request was justified... and that the bastards that would undoubtedly get blown away would deserve it.

The e-mail comes with a few files for preliminary reviewing: news reports about a hostage crisis over on Southeast Asia.