[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, Office 
[b][color=b8860b]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	        Caesar had been diligent about sending updates back. Very diligent. There was a lot to sift through. There seemed to be a fair amount of conflicting tone in the messages, many of which could have been accounted for by way of grief, alcohol, or some measure of conscience that ebbed and flowed as the events in Mexico transpired. Keystone had a less than fair time compiling and setting them into a single section of file. Provided that the information was accurate and not addled nor typoed by the haste and intoxication rumored to be part of a large Gonzalez funeral, there were some good, solid puzzle pieces presented. 

	One in particular seemed to grab Keystone's eye. It was a name, captioning a picture, with two familiar looking figures in it, albeit from decades ago. [color=b8860b]"Nah, can't bloody be..."[/color] he said in hushed tones. [color=b8860b]"She was [i]right bacon-damned 'ere[/i], too. Huh."[/color] This was something he had to let his boss know about. Turnabout being fair play, he punched a message into his company sat phone and sent it off to Caesar. Maybe it was nothing. Coincidence. But it seemed in Justice, coincidences got you dead. 


[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar Gonzalez[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]http://media.giphy.com/media/wbomIbUs5Bc2I/giphy.gif[/img][hr][b] [color=orangered]Location:[/color][/b] Queensguard Industries R&D, Receiving  
[b][color=orangered]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	In the Private Security business, especially for a man like Caesar, something as seemingly innocent as receiving a package was a serious and deadly affair. He had seen quite a bit of death in his time. Perpetrated a good bit of it in new and exciting ways. One of them even involved [url=https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/machete-intestine-copter.gif?w=650] a man's innards and a helicopter[/url]. It was a younger man's game anymore; creative ways to do someone in. He was a master of the craft, however. More experience with it than most people had walking upright. So perhaps it was with the slightest twinge of survival instinct that he, upon hearing that a package was delivered for him, walked down to Receiving with a laptop case in hand. 

	It was a time honored tradition with a long and glorious history, really. Murder by Messenger. Often suspected, which is why messengers were received in full public view, for official business. The countermove therein was to drop off whatever the message was and haul ass, which is exactly what this one seemed to do. What was more pressing a fact though, was that this package came for him, hand delivered, very shortly after he arrived via a previously undocumented private plane trip. He had returned a little earlier than expected. This told him that he was being watched. Good to know. 

	Caesar stood inside the doors to Receiving, waiting for the security guard to hand off the package. Whether he take it back to his office or open it right there, he would have to decide when he held it in his own hands. His phone made a pressing buzz in his pocket. A communication was received, but it would have to wait for at least a minute longer.