Invigoration reverberated from the lips throughout his entire body as L’Monte’ Beauregard gazed down at his sleeping wife after the kiss. Bittersweet feelings enveloped his mind as he stroked ebon locks of her hair. His brow furrowed at the imagery of a multitude of memories infiltrated by the Grand Syndicates. While his heart grew cold, competing sadness burned like a warm hearth on the other side of the perspective. His wife’s deeply irritated perspective. She held no blame and couldn’t hold any of it. She’d signed up for a seemingly traditional kind of marriage. The kind of marriage where the guy works a bit, comes home, spends time with the kids and the dog before finally settling in with the wife. That she deserved it was a forgone conclusion. Unfortunately, it was also an ever elusive conclusion. 

L’Monte’ stood from the bed, eyes locked on the contours of his wife. The thought of leaving her stoked hatred. The thought of the job Outer Element had given him bred the embers of that hatred into baby flames. The corner of his mouth curled into a malicious upturned hook. He hated to leave his wife, but L’Monte’ understood chance and opportunity. The job was an opportunity providing the chance to put the screws to another Grand Syndicate through a smaller Franchise. The unlucky goon targeted was simply a stepping stone. L’Monte’ inhaled and exhaled sharply. Then he left the bedroom. 

Holding the banister in the crush of darkness, L’Monte’ tiptoed down the steps. An argument was not needed right now. The ending remained the same regardless. As did the argument. It would come back around like a carousel albeit much less endearing, bright, or happiness invoking. He found himself thanking the ether once more for the lack of offspring. Not that the ether had anything to do with that, of course. It just made the argument slightly less intense. The argument L’Monte’ couldn’t help but already anticipate. He willed his mind to back burner the upcoming spousal spat and focus. The stress that hadn’t bubbled to the surface yet was going to be preventatively taken care of very soon.

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“What do you think, partner? You seeing any cameras?” 

The question pierced L’Monte’s ears and yanked him back into reality. He sat squat against the trunk of a tree watching the smoke from his cigarette wriggle its way towards the atmosphere. He relived the pressure on his knees and calves by standing and dropped the butt of his cigarette into the shrubbery beneath his boots. Stamped it out for good measure. Swiped a gloved hand down his ebony attire from the top of his load-bearing vest to the bottom of the zipped jacket underneath it. He adjusted the beanie cap on his head some, content with allowing some of his locs to fall out of the back to the bottom of his neck. He scratched at the balaclava hugging his neck. Identification wasn’t normally a problem with these jobs. And L’Monte’ knew he was sick. He wanted them to see him coming. Wanted the targets to see his smiling face when he took them out. Preferably bare-handed. But this was an operation so a classic was necessary. He patted his M4 carbine hanging by its sling at his side. Couldn’t get more classic than 5.56 ammunition. 

“Lemme take a gander,” L’Monte’ said to Markus. 

He reached around and pulled one strap of his pack off his shoulder, swung the bag around to his front. He unzipped, reached inside, and pulled out a set of night vision oculars. The device had a single front visor only separated for each eye where the user peered in. L’Monte’ wasn’t big on gear. He understood the value, but there was a reason he’d opted not to join the military. He brought the oculars to his face and swept back and forth, the fence directly in front of him. He chuckled as he pulled away from his face and repacked the device. Swung his bag back to his rear and shouldered the loose strap once more. 

“Not seein’ any. Seems like they relied on the location itself to maintain secrecy. Shrouded by woods and treetops and bland architecture. No one generally cares about some warehouses on a strip of empty land,” L’Monte’ said. He cracked his gloved knuckles and winced when he finally turned towards Markus. 

“How bad does it hurt? And how does the other guy look?” He asked.