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War-Pulse placed a foot up to the ledge of the building he was on top of, peering over to a nearby warehouse in the abandoned projects of town, conveniently one of the locations that his target had been spotted in. Again he was attired in his signature attire, silver and black, light ceramic nanoweave with titanium layering, a well-made custom fit battlesuit for occasions just like this, given a dynamic flair with a longcoat blowing in the slight breeze of a warm autumn night in Lost Haven. He had this suit made for him so he could be distinguished on the battlefield, so those he encounted knew who they had been annihilated by, and the reputation this battlesuit carried was well known now at least in the criminal underworld, so on most accounts it served its purpose. Of course, now it would have an adverse affect to those in the city, as they all knew him very well as one of the heroes of D-Day, so he never really broke out the suit for interest in not being chased down by interpol.

And yet, today he wore it, because today he had a job to do, and he'd need every advantage he could get.

Before he had come to this warehouse, he had given Warden the vocal recording of what happened to the last team that had tried to bring in the target. As per his usual monotone, paranoid responses, Warden was able to offer him a few bits of advice. One was that this woman was prepared for intruders, if she was where the dossier said she was, she was probably somewhat fortified in her position, as well as wary of pursuers. The other was that she seems to have a superiority complex, by the way she chastised the bounty hunters before she killed them, she indeed thought she was at least a little better than her pursuers.

But she had not met Pulse yet.

Unfortunately, Warden's comforting assistance would not accompany him on this mission, after their conversation, Warden had told him he had some things to take care of, and would be unavailable for the mission. Of course, what originally went through War-Pulse's mind was what else a guy who was in permanent hiding had to do, but he quickly perished the thought from his mind. Warden had set the terms for their working relationship, and War-Pulse would oblige if he wanted the continuous stream of information and data from god-knows-where Warden gets it. He was not to ask about Warden's life or location, he never even met the guy in person. Warden contacted him a few years ago with a proposition, a small cut of War-Pulse's earnings in exchange for connecting him with more high-profile work to suit his needs, and the man had never disappointed him. However, the only real part of Warden that was ever given to War-Pulse was that Warden's mind was genetically-enhanced, and he was part of the U.S. government at some point, anything else Warden kept very close to his chest. He could not argue with results, and if Warden thought this girl was going to see him coming, he saw no reason to doubt the guy.

Hopping off his perch, he quietly glided though the air on energy emissions from his hands, hovering above where the cameras of an average warehouse would be looking, in an attempt to get some sort of element of surprise as he touched down on the roof of the building. The woman was smart, if she was here, she picked a very good spot to hide out. The nearby neighborhood was all but abandoned, this particular warehouse not being in use for a good few years. On top of that, as War-Pulse quietly crept along the dirty plastic scuffling, he noticed another key element to a good hiding spot, a very large lack of windows, be it on the roof, or on any of the walls when he surveyed the building on his way over. Nobody would be able to look in, making this place not only inconspicuous, but almost totally unnoticeable. For a minute, War-Pulse had to wonder if he was simply going to have to tear the roof open to drop in on her. Fortunately, this would not be the case, instead locating a doorway on the rooftop with a nearby plateau. Sliding up to the door, he tested it quickly to check if the door was locked, twisting the handle to hear the familiar click of denial. Undaunted, he simply continued to twist, snapping the handle from its hinges as if it was made out of tin foil. While the sound was indeed audible, it was far more subtle than simply kicking the door down, and War-Pulse figured that it would be drowned out by other strange noises in this part of town.

As he made his way down the steps, into the poorly-lit caverns that was this warehouse, his muscles began to tighten in anticipation, his body reacting to the tension of having no real clue what he was about to face. His hands clenched, eyes darting to and fro for signs of movement, his heart even began to jump a little bit. He had not been this excited for hunting in ages, and he was reveling in every second. There could only be two outcomes of what would happen in that warehouse, from War-Pulse's point of view. She either would not be here and he would have to check her next locations, or she would be waiting for him to put him down like the other mercenary rabble she'd encountered so far.

And he'd be ready and waiting.