Mission: Locate a genetically altered pilot by the name of “FREY TASSON”. Will be making a drop at a bar called “MANNY MUNDO’S”. Vessel nicknamed “RED” for it’s color choice, extremely fast in hyper-mode. Do not allow to take off from ground. DNA is spliced with WEREWOLF genes, approach with extreme caution. When contact is made inform him of his invitation to S.S.F’s headquarters inquires on a specialized job position. If target does not comply the use of force is will be left to the discretion of selected operative to assure that target is brought to S.S.F’s headquarters.<br/><br/>Selected Operative: Zephyra Eirwen.<br/>Mood: Bored.<br/><br/>A long sigh left Zephyra’s mouth. Why was she the one sent for some stupid pick up job. Tapped the counter of the bar before stopping for a brief moment to scratch the band-aid covering the marks below her right eye. If her unusual hair color didn’t cause people to stare her marking brought up a whole new series of questions. “Why’d ya get a tattoo on yer face? Are you one of dem alien girls? What’s the meaning behind it?” Ugh, no. Just no. The bartender turned around and handed her a glass of whiskey, neat. “Thanks,” she said picking it up and taking a sip. Ah, at least on this mission she could drink.<br/><br/>Right as Zephyra sat her glass down a new patron entered the bar. As soon as he sat down she fixed her hearing in his direction to listen in on his conversation. An additional male walked up to the man starting a conversation in familiarity, “Well, howdy, Tasson.” Bingo. Zephyra grinned to herself, target found. When he finish his conver-.<br/><br/>Interrupted. “Hey thar I ben watchin’ since ya got in here. How ‘bout I buy ya yer next drink, huh?” Zephyra glared quickly at him, “No thanks, I don’t plan on being here much longer.”<br/><br/>“Ah, come on. Iz jus one mer drink. It ain’t gunna hurt nuthin’,” the man insisted. She grumbled to herself, ‘I can’t hear my target’s conversation. Go away!’<br/><br/>“No, I’m good leave me alone.” be stern, don’t give a millimeter. “Now no need ta be like dat, come on. Ya look awfully lonely.” For the love of every star in the galaxy, Take. A. Hint.<br/><br/>Zephyra lifted her glass up and took a final guzzle. Maybe good warm whiskey would make him disappear. “See yer don wit chur drink, let me get cha another. Bartender ovah here.” Nope. Still here. She glanced over her shoulder quickly. Target still speaking with additional male. How long conversation will last is undetermined. Although, casual conversations can last a good bit.<br/><br/>“Hey Bartender pour mah friend another glass, will ya?” His he still going on? Zephyra clenched her glass accidently breaking it, which happened time to time. She gave a go to hell glare as words escaped her mouth before she thought of consequences, “Will you. Shut. Up. and. Go Atleast. Fifteen klicks away from me.”<br/><br/>“Ya know, all I wus tryin’ ta do was be nice ta ya. Ya ain’t gotta be sum stuck up snob,” she replied taking his index finger and shoving her back. A time bomb had now started to count down, typically not a good thing in most cases.<br/><br/>Zephyra stood up from the stool she was on and then grabbed the the guy’s shirt collar despite the fact he was a good head taller than her. “You wanna try me one more time Mr. Kind Hearted Bar Slime.” Welp, this could have gone better. Might as well blow off some steam since it’s come this kind of point.