The meeting had been quick and efficient, just the way Venom preferred to do things in the field. Things went by fast, and the next thing Venom knew, it was nearing the time for his mission. Dimitri had come through, his armors systems working perfectly now, delivering the exact amount needed for his already impressive abilities to become magnified. His other project, though, didn't need any help from Dimitri. This one was accomplished easily enough. He'd experimented with ammunition, and finally developed a round to deliver the very chemicals that gave him his namesake.

The bullets were designed to impact, and deliver a lethal cocktail of poisons into his foes veins. In a minute, they'd enter organ shutdown. Within five, they'd be dead, unless one was able to counteract the poisons on the very battlefield. Not that he thought that would be possible, of course, though there was a reason the double tap rule existed... One round was enough to down any normal human foe. Two? That would ensure a quick, death, though he couldn't guarantee it would be painless. These were called venom clips, and all of his ammunition was converted to it. Venom had nothing better to do with his time, when he wasn't training that was.

Now, rain slid off his full combat armor, his helmet lit up just slightly from underneath the rain. The night vision built into his advanced helmet was active, allowing him to survey the area around him without making a sound. He was waiting for the order to engage, the order to destroy the NCR forces stationed here. When he thought about it, he contemplated why he was so... Neutral, about killing these men who had only joined up in the military for one reason or another. He hadn't exactly joined the Enclave just to assault them, he had joined out of interest for what it possessed. Who was to say these men were any different? Of course, in the end, Venom would follow orders. Anything more than that would result in reactions that he would prefer not to deal with. Things he'd rather not have backlash against him.

He made no side chatter, made no noises aside from his anxious shuffling. Was he anxious about the upcoming combat? No, any such fear was obliterated in his grueling training. This was simply the anxiousness of possible death. He may get shot in the head by a sniper, a grenade may land too close to his position, killing him in the resulting explosion. Such thoughts weren't the best to keep his mind company... But they kept his mind occupied from what would almost certainly be boredom instead.