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Imogen accepted the black briefcase with a raised eyebrow, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Before she could respond Soraya was already off. She glanced at Sam with a shrug and started to follow. 

Then she heard the radio followed by gunfire.

Imogen knew this job would have her nearby guns. She wasn't anti-gun. Growing up where she did she wasn't surrounded by weapons unless it was a prized rifle hanging up on the wall of her family home next to the head of some animal the rifle was used on. Or at the occasional garden party where clay pigeons were shot for fun.

In her experience, weapons were a necessary evil. After all, the "bad guys" didn't abide by any law dictating if they could have a weapon or not, so it was up to "good people" to know what to do and how to do it. 

She had only ever fired a gun once back when she was 15 years old. She still remembers the tingling sensation after she did so, the warmth in her body, a primoridal mixture of fear and excitement. 

However, she could do her job and do it easily without the need for violence. Threats? Sure. But she never needed to get her hands bloody. Not until this job landed in her lap.

"I imagine our reporters do not wish to be shot at also, so likely the gunfire will hold them in place until we find them." She looked over to the doctor, waiting to see how they would go about finding them in an active warzone.