[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar Gonzalez[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]http://i1.wp.com/hombre1.com/wp-content/uploads/stories/dt%20machete.jpg?w=1170[/img][hr][b] [color=orangered]Location:[/color][/b] La Hacienda 
[b][color=orangered]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	La Familia always had a way of communicating with one another in such a way that caused confusion or even anxiety in others around them. The small discussion between the elder Gonzalez brothers and the mixed-blood heiress apparent, silent though it was until the end, carried a huge amount of weight with those around them. The news was out, at least among La Familia. Caesar was going back to Justice. Moreover, he wasn't going alone. If the whole of them could mobilize and roll over the sons and daughters of bitches responsible for their presence in the Monterrey Hacienda, it would be an ideal situation. But they couldn't. Not even if they knew for a fact who deserved their anger. This had to be managed in the way most appropriate to Caesar's calling: Personally and with as much splatter as possible. 

	It seemed that the onlookers and viewers were starting to become fewer; many had left the walls of La Hacienda to return to their campers, trailers, and tents. Some absconded to various motor fortresses for the evening, and a select number were invited to remain within the walls of the complex. Many simply chose to rest wherever they sat. After some time, it came to be that Caesar, Thalia, and Benicio were standing a respectful distance from Alicia's mortal remains, the flicker of a hundred or so candles playing across their faces. Each looked at the other yet again, not saying a word. Benicio quietly moved to a table toward the side of the courtyard, and with solemn dignity, went against the letter of his priestly mandate by applying white and black pigments to his face in the form of a crude skull, just as his brother and daughter had. He came and stood back by his family. 

	No words. It was the closest to approval that he would allow himself. 	




[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=b8860b]J. Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]http://bodypower.loxblog.com/upload/b/bodypower/image/mariusz-pudzianowski.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=b8860b]Location:[/color][/b] Queensguard Industries R&D, (just outside) Elizabeth's Office -> Stepping onto 4th Floor
[b][color=b8860b]Skills:[/color][/b] Security Procedures [hr][hr][/center]

	Keystone stepped from the elevator to the dreaded Fourth Floor. He had no idea what to expect other than a pair of dead people and signs of a violent, bloody end. It would very likely be enough, really. But the police had already been here, doing what police do and hopefully not mucking things about too horribly much. Then again, the reputation of this city's cops wasn't exactly sterling. Corruption was shamelessly rampant, just begging to be swatted across the nose with a rolled up newspaper like a large, obnoxious dog, seemingly fully unaware of the ponderous and deadly consequences of their little sins and indiscretions. 

	It was, after all, just a quick look within the bounds of legality. It would have to be. Otherwise, the scene might wind up contaminated by whatever spore traveled along with him. No, he just wanted to see if there was anything that remained that might point him in a specific direction before he returned to his team downstairs. Then he would give them just enough time to explain why he shouldn't just fire the lot of them on the spot and leave everything to the police, considering that their lack of proper action, etiquette, and professional decorum was likely a massive contributing factor to the utter skullfuck that became of this evening.