[color=8882be][hr][indent][sup][b]◤ [i]P[/i]lanet: Luynus, Imperial Controlled Space
◤ [i]L[/i]ocality: Snoria City slums, the Snoria Bazaar
◤ [i]T[/i]ime: Early Evening[/b][/sup][/indent][/color]

[color=gray]Luynus fell away from one's feet when crossing into the bazaar, itself an embassy arrived at through fragile interlocking failures of imperial oversight and the unchecked ambition of local Snorians. A lawless market of the deepest, darkest black choked in illicit wares and overrun with warring gangs. That was the spiel at any rate, just something else they were trying to sell. Vulma wasn't buying. Of the 7-5 she may have been the only body in the whole devil's dozen to find things just a bit upscale for her tastes; even without Javi panging through the expected palter it reeked of nobility. It was practically a tourist trap. Que Sera, Sera; they weren't here to find out who's pocket it was filling.

 As if on cue Anson's laid back yet authoritative tones coalesced within her mind by way of an encrypted channel. 

[color=f26522][i]<Status check. All operators, update location and readiness.>[/i][/color]

 Naturally what followed was a veritable roll call, it'd be an even bet their fearless leader was already piecing together a tactical overlay from each response. So far Wraith and Nightmare were concentrating overwatch from the north and south respectively, Router had his HR overhead and the locator was a go thanks to P'siyah and Rose. Luke, Bruce, Thane and herself were providing boots on the ground, with Hex holding in a central location. Dodging a blush of urchin boys Vhyrd followed suite, stitching together a reply in a voice that was pure, synthesized sex. 

[color=8882be][i]<Western Bazaar. Frosty.>[/i][/color] 

Truth be told nothing had really jumped out at her, a few identity swaps; some organ trade; and a surprising number of people looking to eat endangered animals--but nothing mission critical. Mostly she'd just traced a furtive patrol through the curtain of bodies that kept the tracts of peddlers from colliding. Fortunately she didn't really jump out either, even with a full prosthetic body she had a knack for becoming scenery in these places; just another ant in the column. Vulma achieved this through the complete antithesis of stealth, hidden by the urban ghille that was 'gang-chic' fashion. Letting a loud, loose sweatshirt slouch off her factory sleek contours, one sleeve absent arm in a style that was inexplicably vogue; 'Terra Lives' stickerbombed over the portion of plated midriff it left exposed. Men's track pants likewise rested asymmetrically over her form, rolled up to reveal an uneven offering of each ankle; an off-market hand carbine worn open carry along the waistband. To almost any observer she was just another casualty of the post-armistice, pre-glam xenopop scene.

 Before cutting the communiqué an addendum razzed crossed the channel.

[color=8882be][i] <I have ten credits saying half of us showed up in black hoods. Any takers?>[/i][/color][/color]