[b]SIXGUN[/b]

This was all moving so fast. Brady shot a look over at the newbie, Wire, before turning back to Fontana. "Right, boss, just a couple question. One, where's this meetin' going to take place? Even if'n it's on neutral ground, might not hurt to suss out the joint, yeah? Two, who exactly are we meeting with and what groups do they represent? If there's gonna be blood spilled, fine, just wanna know what to expect. Yardies ain't like Yakuza, they use different weapons and tactics. I may not be a boy scout, but I do like to always be prepared."

Despite his flippant attitude, his mind was already racing. If any of them had thought to reach out to Phoenix, he might very well be meeting with one of his old foes, such as Hector Espinosa, the Cartel boss for Arizona, aptly nicknamed El Rey. Or worse, the mercenary known as the Panamanian, as talented with a submachine gun as Sixgun himself was with a revolver. Not to mention the man literally had the ability to make people fear him. Sixgun was in no hurry to trade bullets with him. While he felt reasonably certain that they knew him only in mask and costume, he couldn't help but be concerned.

Besides, reaching out to other crime syndicates meant a wider talent pool. That mean more top-shelf muscle, even some metahumans like the one sitting beside him. And that meant an even larger threat to both the League and the general public.

-------

[b]SONJA[/b]

Although she felt about half-dead and voraciously hungry, Sonja still managed to drag a comb through her hair and get herself out into the hallway. She had only allowed herself a little time to rest- there was still more to do. This night just wouldn't end. It wouldn't be right to spend it curled up in bed, much as she wanted to. Not while she could still contribute. Besides, what would people think of her then? She'd be roundly lambasted, for sure. 

She spied the prisoners being marched to their cells. Great. Interrogations. Not fighting, but still useful. She'd volunteer for that.

With some relief she spotted Hot Rod, bleary-eyed and bandaged under his outfit, but for the most part looking none the worse for wear. She quietly slid up beside her friend, gave him a light touch on the shoulder. "Glad to see you're alright," she said quietly. "Got pretty rough in there. Not everyone made it out." She thought sadly of Bluegrass, tried to picture him alive, not with a smoking hole where his eye had once been. The TV she had switched on while washing up in her infirmary room had mostly covered the battles in Chicago, but there had been a thirty-second sound bite showing the mourning in Nashville, the candlelight vigils occurring in Centennial Park. The kid deserved better than that. 

"You feel up to going good cop bad cop on one of these thugs?" she asked Hot Rod. "We could definitely learn something valuable."