[b]Strawberry![/b]

This one was a little bit cute, but Pink couldn't resist. She dogfaced the security footage.

She didn't overtape anything, she just inserted an old machine intelligence into the security network that'd go through every frame of the operation and find the dogs. It'd oversave the entire thing with dog pictures, metal and tunnels and evidence warped into an endless succession of smiling nightmare dogs. 

As the kicker, all throughout the operation her face masks had dog patterns on them just to make it [i]utterly [/i]impossible to convince the MI that there were no dogs in these images.

[Cryptography 0/1, Digital Intrusion 2/8, 2+6: [b]8[/b]]

[b]Flood![/b]

Team Flood neither runs nor hides. She gets changed.

Sniping is a refined art. Not only do the people who do it get very good at it, but the math is broadly solvable. With a plurality of sensors then all the conditions of a 1200 meter shot can be controlled for. And these are the kind of people who base their identity around shooting things with bullets. They practice for hours. That's why this is going to be so humiliating.

She stands up.

It starts to rain.

The flood has made its way from the heavens to the earth. The water is coming down thick and fast and [i]hot [/i]- they heated those pipes, remember? The bullet is fired and it curves wildly in the air. What's that? Guess they don't train you to account for the ballistic effects of high humidity and temperature variation on your space gun, space man? 

But her? She's all bundled up in wet-weather gear that obscures her thermal signature right as visibility drops like a stone, and she has the terrain map memorized. Not just terrain in abstract, she's learned the soil composition of the area and knows which fields are going to be walkable and which are going to be boot-eating rasputa. 

Every military in human history thinks it's hot shit until it gets stuck in the mud.

[Military Science 0/2, Preparedness 1/8, 5+5 = 10]

[b]Orange![/b]

This was the moment.

She produces a silver hip flask and refills everyone's empty cups with hard whisky. This was another Everest habit; she didn't drink unless November was an operation, and then she'd commemorate success by slamming down liquor like a Estonian fisherman. It was the most human she ever saw the old lady.

"[i]That[/i]," she said, letting the strain show at last, "was a lot of work."