[centre][b]Dr. Soraya Mansour[/b][/centre]

Soraya Mansour didn't really have downtime, what passed for it was usually spent reviewing case files for specimens and bodies retrieved and held by Acheron and those still out in the field. Part of her work was sifting through photos and documentation of deceased remains to determine which specimens might be interesting for Acheron's purposes, which were safe for examination by local medical authorities and which needed to be prioritized for examination by dedicated personnel with security clearance. It was a lot of accessing and sifting through Acheron databases, consulting with Acheron personnel in the field, or other medical personnel working cases of interest: but it was familiar work.

Then the PA sounded, announcing other matters at hand.

Soraya sat up, rubbing at her temples and adjusted her glasses before securing her workstation. She stood, taking a moment to collect her things, a black leather file folder with a pair of small notebooks she kept inside. She secured her phone, and placed it within the locked panel inside her desk, next to her other phone, and locked them both.

She paused at the threshold to the door, before she shut the light. Examining the office, the thought occurred to her that there was nothing inside to concern herself over. Nothing that might be discovered in her absence that would lead back to her being anything other than she was. Nothing to be worried about, and yet the last check too was a form of a familiar work. So she closed the door and ensured it was locked before heading down the hallway, folder tucked under her arm as she made her way to the briefing room.

Habit forced her to keep alert. She'd spent days after her arrival becoming 'lost' in the facility, mapping her surroundings like a mouse, aware of the entries and exits available to her and others. Where the cameras were placed. Routines.

It was unnecessary, she told herself, but this place still didn't feel safe - not in the way a field medical tent might have surrounded by armed gunmen from paramilitary and terrorist groups whose mental states varied with the weather. At least there she knew where she stood. Here everyone was calm. There were no bodies piling up for her to examine. Not so long ago she'd imagined this as the sort of life she'd have wanted for herself, yet being here stuck in a quiet office only made her feel trapped and useless.

An alarm though promised something different.

She checked her watch and entered the briefing room, pausing just inside the door while she surveyed the scene. "Hello." She smiled at those already inside before taking her seat. There was no hiding her well-polished French-Parisian accent. English had only ever been a secondary pursuit for her, easily the least utilized of the languages on her official resume. At least it had been before this tasking.

Taking her place, waiting for the briefing to begin Soraya was very good at looking like a medical doctor appearing annoyed at being kept waiting by other people - rather than the other way around. It was a sort of annoyed, fidgety energy she'd borrowed from years of observing her own colleagues who were quite certain they could be saving lives right that moment if it weren't for meetings. It was the sort of anxious energy of someone anticipating the sort of rush that would follow whatever an alarm like this was.

Soraya wasn't nervous, or impatient though, but she liked to observe those around her; liked to know the people she was working with. Some of them she'd even quietly arranged through her DSGE and other contacts to see what was known about them.

At the front of the room Graves was standing there, with Norr looking like two professionals who'd rather look anywhere but at each other. It was a habit of the pair, Soraya had noted. Norr seemed like any functionary Soraya had ever known and Graves like every special forces operator that had ever come through one of her medical tents. That the pair had been married was in their file, but she'd have hardly needed a dossier to know there was history there.

Imogene Crestworthy was another member of the Concealment Team, busy texting while waiting for the briefing to begin. Soraya supposed it was the woman's job, but it was still a surreal experience for her after years of secure briefings. Soraya still vividly recalled one of her instructors throwing a lamp across the room after a candidate had brought their phone with them. This had ended with five minute tirade about 'millennials' and the offender in question never being seen or heard from again after being removed by security.

Soraya had to remind herself to keep an open mind. The girl was, by her dossier, fairly good at her work.

Then there was the Tech Giant. Affable. Bringing in unsecured electronics from Walmart. Acheron was certainly different, but then, she supposed the things Acheron dealt with were not the sort of things that engaged in sophisticated intelligence gathering operations.

Soraya looked at the clock on the wall, and frowned.

Then there was the man, Stokes lurking like a dark shadow. He looked like he'd been through ten wars, and the dossier she'd seen threw up more question marks than Graves'. Graves background at least simply disappeared into the infamous Fort Bragg black hole. That was diagnostic of a particular career path. The background of Stephen Stokes, by contrast, had come with hand-written notes from one of her DGSE contacts that his was among the worst false backgrounds he'd ever seen: 100% confidence no professional agency would've signed off on it and no way Acheron hadn't immediately flagged it.

It wasn't out of character for the Americans to choose to employ the man anyway, clearly he had some clout. What was interesting to Soraya was that they hadn't bothered to provide him a proper legend, even though they could have.

Soraya didn't yet trust any of these people, but she was quite certain Stephen Stokes was the one she trusted least.