[@Doc Doctor]

For the briefest of moments, Najwa could not believe what she witnessed. In what had to be a prime example of western bravado, out of a still-running black sedan came a charismatic sideshow worthy of the finest circus. The pungent stench of nicotine and spent ammunition accosted her keen nose. A flash of gold was enough to raise her curiosity.

[i]What would a US DEA agent be doing on a floating arcology, miles off the former Indian coast? Why does he look like a third-rate Jason Statham? He moves like he's sick, but there's a certain urgency.. Doesn't add up.[/i] 

She took three side-steps to the left, eliminating the hard cover of the cars parked between herself and the loud American. With rote efficiency Najwa drew her pistol, flicked off the safety, and raised the muzzle to lock in at the center of the man's torso.

Her gaze moved past the tritium iron-sights on her weapon. Any sign of movement that didn't comply with her demands would be met with disabling force.

"HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD! SLOWLY!" Najwa spoke with a soft South African accent. While not the most comfortable anglophone, her voice commanded the area.

"LE JAEN! NAKARVU! NAQL!" The crowd within their proximity looked around for a moment, unsure of what was about to transpire. Once they noticed the gun, things changed. She could hear the rapid shuffle of sandaled feet beneath alarmed screams. 

With the immediate distraction of possible civilian casualties taken care of, Najwa waited to see what the suspicious westerner would do.