<div class="floatright">(https://orig00.deviantart.net/43e6/f/2017/233/0/a/bobnude1_600x900_by_whiskypaint-dbktecc.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Max<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Jone High Port Loading Bay 2B<br/><strong>Station Time:</strong>15:40<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>"Greg"<br/><hr/><br/>Max strokes at her chin gritting her teeth, her gun lowering further. This... Was fucked up. On multiple levels. On the plus side, if they were slavers the cops on the payroll of this gang would be nailed to the wall, and it was likely fewer questions would be asked.<br/>"Ugh. Right look, that is... Messed up. If... If it's true I can't guarentee no questions would be asked, and a lot of other cops are going to look at this little askew... But like I said, with no evidence, you wouldn't be held. Just- for the love of God, don't mention any hypotheticals to other police, it doesn't protect you as much as you think it does. Do you think you could lead me to evidence before this hits the fan?"<br/><br/><br/>Slaves. Blood and ashes, she had known something was up but had been expecting drugs or weapons or something. She paused and any uncertainty in her body language fled. This couldn't stand.<br/><br/>"... I lead the way, we try this sneaky, if that fails, I offer them a chance to surrender. If it hits the fan... Weapons free. Agreed?"<br/><br/>If it hits the fan. Ha. Max grew the ghost of a smile and offered a hand towards 'Greg'