[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar Gonzalez[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]https://shootingthescript.files.wordpress.com/2010/09/machete-2.jpg?w=455&h=300[/img][hr][b][color=orangered]Location:[/color][/b] Queensguard R&D Industrial Complex: Security employee lounge
[hr][hr][/center]

	Absently, Caesar opened the door to the microwave, and inspected the business card. He was still on the phone, but it looked very much like he was on hold. Whereas he was not the type who enjoyed listening to crappy elevator-style music, at the moment he was not about to scream about it. Bigger battles to fight, more important emotions clawing their way to the top of his psyche. He slipped the card into a pocket, just in time to continue speaking to whomever was on the other end of the conversation. 

	The dialogue was spoken completely in Spanish. The tone of his voice changed several times, from flat and impersonal to remorseful, even a tiny chuckle once or twice. One observing the conversation could surmise that he was speaking with multiple people. One who spoke the language would have that confirmed. Not only that, but people with whom he was very familiar. After a while, he bid a melancholy [color=orangered]"Adios"[/color] and ended the call. 

	[color=orangered]"Alright, Keystone. Mi Familia is set up to receive company back home. It'll be a stupid motherfucker that tries anything there. More guns than Texas, and my people are many. Pissed off, too. Alicia was loved. Before that, I have a stop in redneck country. I leave as soon as the bodies are released. Speaking of..."[/color]

	The grieving El Jefe punched up a fresh text message, again to Cecily. 

[center][color=orangered][u][i]Break in case? Maybe me too. Let's talk. Be there in 20 mins.[/i][/u][/color][/center]

	He looked to the massive Londoner. [color=orangered]"Going to the morgue. Hold this place down. Interview people, sit in on a training session for the new guys. Be noticed. I'll be in touch later."[/color]

	Without so much as waiting for a return to his statement, Caesar turned and walked out of the lounge. The next few minutes found him on his Harley trike, roaring out of the R&D complex. 

[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=b8860b]J. Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]http://images.tapology.com/letterbox_images/1633/default/mariusz_pudzianowski_klasa.jpg?1454962897[/img][hr][b][color=b8860b]Location:[/color][/b] Queensguard R&D Industrial Complex: Security employee lounge
[hr][hr][/center]

	Keystone had finished his own calls long before Caesar did, and felt just a bit awkward standing there while he engaged in serious conversation, using a language with which he was very largely unfamiliar. It's not like it was standard learning back in grade school. At least not for him. His linguistical capabilities went significantly more east than Spanish, though in contemplating this fact, it might not be a bad idea to pick up a little of the language. He was in California, after all. It was a widely practiced secondary tongue here. 

	He did take Caesar's advice to heart, though. Get around the Complex more. Be seen. Sit in on a training session. Yes, [i]that[/i]. Paperwork was taken care of, the place was under wraps for now. Good time to let his presence be more than that of a figurehead. A short bit of time after the venerable Mexican left for Cecily's place of business, Keystone trudged out, crossing MMS's section of the Complex and quickly locating the company gym. Class [i]was[/i] in session, as it turned out.

	This was not the martial training he had personally thrown himself into. It looked more like an intellectual discussion about theoretically punching and throwing people, led by a guy who obviously just got the position by default after Lorna's unfortunate demise. Sure, this one trainer looked like he could handle himself, and true to form, the trainees needed to get the background and basics down first. But it just didn't look remotely as fun as the torturous crap inflicted upon him, designed to break down and rebuild his body in ways that most of humanity would never have to endure. The experiences gave some trauma, yes, but made him a [i]particularly[/i] dangerous man, even among dangerous men. It was time to pass the love on to others. 

	He burst through the door, almost screaming the phrase most loved by the Bobbies that had occasion to chase him down in his youth. [color=b8860b][b]"What's all this, then?"[/b][/color] 

	Their reaction was priceless. This was going to be fun.