With the cargo's departure came the arrival of a new FRAME in the hangar, an old looking desert-camouflaged Handou with "YASSIR" stenciled upon the outer-thighs in big subdued brown letters, its chest bristling with heavy machine-guns, a mortar-module strapped to its back, and a large scoped GPR-21 clipped to its shoulder like some tin-soldier at parade-rest.

The pilot however, was not present. She was elsewhere at one of the local port-side establishments; word had already reached her of the Panthers's arrival, but she wanted to see how these mercenaries handled themselves when they wouldn't think anyone on their team was watching.

To simply blend-in, the child of a farmer and soldier for as long as she could remember had worn a simple lightweight red shawl over a brown yếm and a blue denim-skirt. She tried her best not to draw too much attention to herself by sitting in a lonely looking corner and surrounding herself with junk-mail advertisements to sort through in addition to the contents of her smart-pad as she sipped coffee by herself.