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Riley ground her teeth as Jenkins spoke. Her skin crawled at the mention of nanites, running through her veins and tying a noose around her neck. She tried to seek comfort in the thought of their removal after the mission, but a man who would dangle a knife over their heads from the get go was just as likely to lie and double-cross. She wasn't about to take Mr Sinister's delivered word for anything. The rat.

Once Jenkin's left, Riley made her way to the bunk while some headed to the lounge. An intoxicaing drink sounded [i]delightful[/i], but she didn't like the idea of going on a mission tipsy. Highly unprofessional; potentially fatal too. Finding her bed, Riley plucked up the tablet Jenkins had mentioned. The technopath was a technophile too, it seemed, as Riley looked over the sleek design. A bit more digging unearthed a thick belt with small pockets sewed in a line, a rank of soldiers. Hopping back to her feet Riley quickly cast off her prison uniform, threw on a cotton singlet and pulled on boxer-shorts. Now in a decidedly comfortable outfit, she walked out the bunk, crossing some of the other Rogues but noticing no faces as she bowed her head over the screen of the tablet.

Letting her feet walk her across the warehouse and to the lounge, Riley heard some chatter - and some screaming - as her eyes slid from corner to corner, ingesting lines of information of her new comrades. Some came from scandals, from crimes. Riley rummaged noisily through the drawers with her free hand, picking out knives. She threw them upwards to watch them cartwheel, and caught them each by the handle before sheathing them in the belt slung around her waist. She smiled down at the screen as she felt her lower half grow heavy with her spoils. Ah, looting. She was back to her roots, wasn't she? Once each sheath was filled with a blade, Riley turned to lean against the counter, to commit the remaining profiles to memory.

The lounge was relatively quiet, with a muscled man filling himself with food and drink, and a blonde woman Riley recognised as Natilaya - a kind of femme fatale who'd been killing her victims after bedding them prior to prison-life - made several trips for an impressive amount of liquor. As she walked out the lounge, Riley arched a brow at her. Russian? She had the features for it.

Snapping her fingers absent-mindedly to spark them out of poor habit, Riley reached the last of the profiles and looked up from the screen to watch the blond ravenously devour his food. [color=8882be]"Worked yourself an appetite, huh?"[/color] Riley said from her counter. She referred to the tablet again. [color=8882be]"[i]Karate Bastard[/i]."[/color] Riley looked at the man with a raised eyebrow to convey slight reprove, and then switched expressions to one of grimaced confusion. [color=8882be]"I'm sorry."[/color] The apology wasn't very sincere, but Riley wasn't trying to convince him otherwise. [color=8882be]"Can I call you Keith instead? Or Blackwell?"[/color] A sharp grin spread over her face, smoothing back the creases of the previous wince. [color=8882be]"It's just that my mother always used to tell me not to swear."[/color]