[@FourtyTwo] [center][h1]Paris, France. One Week Prior.[/h1] [h2]Charles de Gaulle Airport.[/h2][/center] A steady silence imposed itself over the bustling noise outside of the CDG terminal. Riding passenger in the front seat of her [url=https://medias.fcacanada.ca//specs/alfaromeo/media/images/panos/2021-alfa-wyw_pano-mobile_d99594f96858e022785c31b9d21bb174-1600x824.jpg]mother's car[/url], Michele had spoken little of her upcoming "trip." Her mother had, of course, badgered her for nearly a week about it; it wasn't every day that a French woman took up a job in New Zealand. Then, it also wasn't every day that a former gymnastics star got recruited into a clandestine counter-terrorist operation. Somehow, though, Michele had landed in just that position. Naturally, she couldn't divulge that to her mother. It had been a clever ruse on the part of Raven Squad to set up her cover story: Michele had been hired to coach an international dance squad based in New Zealand. All of the documentation had been doctored to perfection on the diligent hand of RS's tech experts; Skye Lyons even promised to set her up with a real gig to validate her alibi. Even still, Mich's chest sunk when she thought of how much of her life she had had to keep away from her closest relative. Top secrets on top of top secrets. When she set foot on the sidewalk outside of the terminal, she was looking solemn and secluded. Even as she hugged her mother, "Au revoir, mére," drifted out from her with the distant tone of someone that might never return home. And with no further exchange of words, Michele crossed into the terminal, not looking back. Somehow, she believed her mother knew more than she was letting on; mothers always had a way of knowing. [center][h3]=========[/h3] [h1]Kaitiaki Homestead[/h1][/center] Though it had been a week since she had arrived at the Homestead, Michele had yet to completely unpack her belongings. Less so had she fully engaged the other members of the squad. Outside of the brief, strictly business interactions in the common areas, she kept well enough to herself. A sharp memory of her first mission two weeks ago had had her reflecting since she had arrived at the base. She had met with a few operatives in Milan. The sting operation was the one that put most of her former criminal enterprise behind bars. More than one of her new colleagues had called her out for being too soft on the crooks, especially, they emphasized, considering what the syndicate had put her through. It was true enough that she hadn't been particularly aggressive; she had opted to implement anesthetic tactics during the raid, leaving most of her ex-cohorts passed out on the floor. This was partly for wanting them to face justice rather than vengeance, and partly out of knowing that more than a few of them were deep in it for similar reasons to her. And it wasn't like she spared all of them; Carmine and his inner circle had either been beaten to dead pulp or turned into Swiss cheese. Mich had personally done the honor of offing the boss. Even so... Some, particularly the 'Gentleman' Stafford, had chastised her for leaving too many living bodies behind. She hadn't responded to anyone's criticism though. She had known what she was doing, and was vindicated when the tabloids and newspapers wrote off the raid as the work of a "low man on the ladder looking to usurp the crime boss." But still, she was being prodded... the next mission wouldn't leave room for survivors or witnesses. Mich understood that fact. The past week had been spent steeling herself for the inevitable necessity of blood on her hands. She loathed killing, having done so for unsavory tasks. If it was justified though... [center][h3]=========[/h3][/center] After progressing through her series of morning stretches, Michele [url=https://365woman.ru/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/modnyy-sharf-2018-52-768x960.jpg]dressed[/url] herself casually, and proceeded to the common area of the Homestead. She was late getting to the socializing, but was just in time to hear Skye's rundown of the next mission's details. She listened quietly and carefully. The case seemed heavier than she could say she was prepared for. Going from taking down jewel thieves, art smugglers, and drug traffickers wasn't quite on the tier of wrecking up arms dealers... particularly ones with big money and politicians backing them. She proceeded wordlessly on the ending of the debriefing. With no backing down, she knew it would be best to pull together her arsenal. [center][h3]=========[/h3] [h1]Aralsk[/h1] [h2]Partycrasher[/h2][/center] The cold desert night had begun to give way to daybreak along the Aral Sea. Arriving by the dead of night, the Raven Squad team was already within range of their target by the time the sun touched the eastern horizon. Michele's night had been rough. Weighing the value of her weapons in relation to the mission had stolen more of what little sleep she was allowed than she cared to admit to the squad. In the end, she had chosen to leave her climbing gear and shotgun behind; with little space in the DPV, she worried she might take up too much space... though conversely, she had been convincing about bringing gear for a shallow dive with her despite Queen's insistence that the Aral Sea was too dried out for it to be of much use. At her immediate disposal was her HK433. Holsters at her hip kept guard over her M9, FNP-90, and taser. Her Tactical Suit, fresh from assembly by RS's R&D, had been outfitted with sheathing compartments for her tonfa pair. Though she wasn't entirely sure how useful they'd be in an open desert, she had stocked two smoke canisters. As it was her first true mission, Michele, designated "Hornet" had been ordered by Queen to ride, and stick with her for the time being, and do as she said. Hornet was doing well in following Queen's orders. Her last set of instructions were to stay at the DPV and stand guard; the last thing they wanted was to get caught on their ass end by surprise. However, the guard duty was quickly chipping away at Hornet's patience. Her assault rifle at a carrying position, she bobbed and rocked back and forth from heel to toe. Every few seconds she circled the vehicle scanning out the surrounding desert. [i]No danger out here for miles...[/i] Save for the arms dealers nearby anyways. Hornet was just about to break from her sentry duty to check on the situation for herself when Queen came bolting back to the DVP. Seeing her leader's intent immediately, Hornet secured herself in the nearest passenger seat. There was no time to fasten in; Queen revved the engine and drove in a hurry. Hornet, though braced for the acceleration, nearly dropped from the back end of the DVP before finally securing herself next to Queen. "What's the problem?" she asked, her English adorned, as always, by a noticeable French accent.