[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar Gonzalez[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[center][img]https://www.trbimg.com/img-54da3b87/turbine/sf-danny-trejo-shock-pop-comiccon-lauderdale-20150210[/img][/center][sub][color=orangered][i]His childhood bedroom. Caesar sometimes comes back here to think.[/i][/color][/sub][hr][b] [color=orangered]Location:[/color][/b] La Hacienda 
[b][color=orangered]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

[i]...Upstairs...[/i]

	The flood of information coming at Thalia was obviously important. Names, dates, aliases. Directly underneath was a report of a church shooting, all involving people with these aliases that were pulled straight from Roman mythology. Well, mostly involving names pulled from Roman mythology. Her eyes narrowed, contemplating writing some of this down. Ultimately, she rejected this idea as her opinion revolved somewhere between the concept that print was dead, and that the only reliable way to secure a written message was to eat it. Getting the message back out was a more cumbersome animal, though. Much more cumbersome. Only two routes to take with that one, and while not really the dainty type, Thalia would rather just make a copy and bury it someplace inconspicuous. Like shrunk down into a single pixel and tacked into a copy of her favorite old-school video game. Maybe a FPS. She thought she had a copy of Duke Nukem 3D on one of her flash drives somewhere. Yeah, it would work. Just this moment, she was in a secure location. There was time. 

	Another mention of a tragedy, same day. This one was a car bombing that claimed the lives of more of these Roman Goddess women. Three more. It was like someone came by and cleaned house that day back in '83. Hell of a Black Sunday. It looks like the kind of thing that Caesar might have set up, except that there were a lot less stabbings, and far fewer deaths that looked personally motivated. But there were interesting quirks to both incidents that she had read about so far. The shooting saw a Valerie Pye and an unidentified child living, while the bombing claimed a presumably unexpected death - a man named Russel Avery, former Navy. 

	Okay, she was going to have to tell her uncle about this. Thalia knew absolutely nothing about the situation so far. She didn't know what Alicia had gotten herself into in the first place, not really. Vague outline at best. It was great that she was able to get into this file, awesome that she might have something that could help, but without even a base knowledge of the situation so far, this made little sense. She needed perspective. Or someone did. Absently, she pulled out her favorite automatic knife, unloading the blade into the space next to her and retracting it repeatedly. 

	[i]...Downstairs...[/i]

	The viewing had turned into something resembling a highly respectful Irish wake, minus the Irish (for the most part, anyway). The gathering was getting a little loud, what with the music reaching a faster tempo and more people joining in. Caesar was not entertaining the possibility of dancing, likely ever again. But people were. Even a ritual revolving around the death of a cherished family member was a thing that required celebration. Let it never be said that they were not a people in touch with their own mortality. It colored every aspect of their lives. And even in the face of this final destination of all things that lived and walked upon the Earth, the Familia Gonzalez sent off their flesh and blood with song, with food, and with the promise of revenge. 

	Somewhere in the courtyard, a gathering of testosterone junkies (mostly Gonzalez, but there were a few Rodriguez and Delacruz in the mix) gathered in a circle as people exchanged hard currency, arguing the merits and liabilities of the two men circling each other in the center, arms up, engaging in the pugilistic arts. Eventually, every gathering devolved into something physical. Couldn't be helped. Hurling machetes at targets, boxing, lucha, holding palms above lit candles; these things all came about as the alcohol flowed freer. Caesar looked upon the scene with a wistful notion, shaking his head. If he were a couple decade younger, or if he got about halfway down his bottle of booze. Yeah, just a little more time. Maybe get a plate first. 



[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=b8860b]J. Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/9c/ba/f3/9cbaf3be02b57676c6708b37c484110a.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=b8860b]Location:[/color][/b] Queensguard R&D Industrial Complex
[b][color=b8860b]Skills:[/color][/b] Leadership, Security Procedures
[hr][hr][/center]

	The earpiece of both Keystone and the lady known to him primarily as Vinters sounded with what seemed to be an issue fro the team in the Hub. "Boss, we had monitor flickers from all of our screens a little bit ago. We didn't think much of it, but it considering the guests it might take some looking into. What do you want to do, sir?" Keystone sighed. Naturally, there was going to be a problem tonight. The tech team was there to do what they did best; something for which Keystone was not trained. It's why they were present. [color=b8860b]"Right. One o'you get on monitors, gimmie a look at what's kickin' about whilst the flicker happened. Pay special on the guests, yeah?"[/color] 

	It took a minute, but there was a response. "Can't say for sure Boss, but it looks like that Wentworth guy might have signaled." A cold grip took Keystone's spine. If he did signal, that meant that he didn't do anything himself, if he did anything at all. If he [i]did[/i] do something, that meant that there was a team in play inside the facility. Or a traitor. Something wasn't right. [color=b8860b]"Bloody 'ell... right then, make sure I gots a briefin' room on the ready, and run a diagnostic on the right fongin' quick. I'll keep an eye on Ol' Wenty. Just be ready for some noise, yeah? ...oh, gimmie a physical sweep. Real eyes on scenes. Report back stations A-friggin'-SAP."[/color] 

	With minimal hestiation, Keystone entered the gala, the lady from Seattle at his left rear flank. Standard practice, given the situation. He gave the room consideration, noting secure points and exits. But more than that, he tried to get a good decent look at the habits of the people there. Did anyone seem to be overly cautious? Withdrawn? Reject or minimize conversations? And to whom was Wentworth speaking? Did he have personal security on scene, plainclothes or standard? And where were Keystone's people? Many things to watch for. Many more to ponder. But most of all, when would be a good point to get this fucker in an armlock and lead him out of this room and into a quiet place where a proper discussion could be [i]beaten out of him[/i].