In the course of an afternoon he'd been taken to the polar opposite of the station from his usual stomping grounds. Gone were the well-lit, clean and comfortable upper levels his position let him pretend he was truly a part of, replaced by slums that he'd never wish to go near. THe whole place reminded him of a war zone, though somehow worse since here there was no excuse for such squalor. Even a fraction of his employer's immense wealth could clean up the warrens literally overnight and she'd be none the wiser.<br/><br/>He took in the apartment, trying not to inhale the scent of too many bodies gone too many days without proper cleanings mixed with carcinogenic vices and the smell of even worse food. He kept his expression neutral-- his eyes swept the room, a hand always ready to reach for a gun while the other was ready to crush the face of anyone who'd try getting close enough to stab him. He let Beretta and Zed talk shop and moved toward the cadre on the couch. THey were all half his size or smaller and he soon felt as if he could let his guard down. Not that there was any way a creature like him could<i>not</i>stand out.