The alarm blared loudly, like an air raid siren. Gerry was out of bed in an instant, shutting the thing off. He was half-dressed by the time he made it across his bedroom, and fully dressed before he reached the kitchen that was just down a short hallway. The operator seemed to run his whole life with brutal efficiency. It explained the lack of connections, and also his keen abilities in the field. Nothing was ever switched off with this man. He got his breakfast together while he got ready to go, and despite his completely disorganized appearance, the agent was actually almost a full hour ahead of schedule. He did all of his deliberately, wanting to have time to wait before the mission started. Time to wait was good time. So the man looked like he was doing six different things very badly all at once, when in reality, he was actually running at peak efficiency, getting everything good to go with time to spare. He had taken care of just about everything beforehand, but obviously he couldn't do everything. What little he needed to do was easily done concurrently, however, and Gerry made good use of that.

In under fifteen minutes he was dressed and presentable. He had also eaten breakfast, and geared up as much as he could with what he had at home. Something that most people might take an hour or more to do. Something that most people never considered. Figuring he was good to go, the man headed out to his car. It was evening, but thanks to his adaptability, he was running like it was morning. And that was good, since he'd be on night operations for the foreseeable future. Undaunted, he headed straight for the armoury hidden deep below his office. While he didn't know how they were getting to the target, he did know that they would be doing it with weapons readied, since this was a dangerous operation. But what operation wasn't dangerous? Even the simplest exercise could go drastically wrong in an instant. Gerry didn't plan on messing around.

And indeed he didn't. The agent had his car parked and was booking it down to his new office long before he was required to be there. He figured there would probably be time allotted to getting ready, but his goal was to turn that time into waiting time. Or even move up the mission. Whatever worked for the man in charge. So he wasn't casually strolling when he arrived at the quartermaster. He ran a hand over his head, as he waited, irritably rubbing at his freshly clipped scalp. The man in charge of issuing gear showed up eventually. It was probably only a two minute wait, but that was too long for the operator. He pushed his way in and started grabbing kit off the walls. He was not here to wait around to be served. "No tracers. I'm rocking the UMP45. I want a mark three tactical vest, and the mark two chest rig. Don't fuck me around on that, I want the mark two." he was very particular about his combat gear. The soldier had clearly done this before. Someone showed up to bomb up magazines for him while he loaded up, and the man laughed when he saw what was going on. "Are you loading rubber bullets into that fucking magazine?" he asked. He shrugged on his tactical vest as he looked over the assistant's shoulder at the black rubber capped cartridges being bombed-up into his magazines. The other man didn't answer right away.

"Who told you to do that? Who's trying to get me killed? That's bullshit. Empty those and put fucking black talons in there." he stared the assistant down until the other man started to move. Then immediately regretted his decision. Black talon rounds had projectiles that were the same colour as the rubber bullets he had been trying to avoid. He shook his head and hoped no one tried to fuck him around. The agent had a mission to complete, but he was starting to wonder if he was supposed to fail. "No frag vest. We're running light on this one." he insisted, waving away someone who'd brought out hard body armour. He liked the stuff, but he wasn't worried about being shot, he was more worried about the supernatural stuff that apparently didn't even need guns. It sounded like crap, but he supposed that not having a vest would at least keep him on his toes. And it wasn't like he was completely unprotected. Gerry was always wearing a vest of some kind. And with that in mind, he loaded up his tactical vest with the various things he liked to have on him when he went hunting for high value targets. And then his chest rig showed up. He didn't have time to check the magazines. He just gritted his teeth and strapped the thing on. If someone wanted him dead, he supposed he would find out when the target got back up the first time...