<br/><div class="floatleft">(http://ginva.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/01.jpg)</div><strong>Name: </strong>Ren Colbert<br/><strong>Location: </strong>Hangar<br/><strong>Tagging: </strong>Jared, open<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Ren accepted the PDA from Chulski with a silent nod  The woman looked spooky, twitchy. PTSD? Still, she'd dropped a Tango, so- lucky or good? Colbert hoped good, hoped they were<em>all </em>as good as they thought they were, or this was gonna be a mess.<br/><br/>They hit fucking Bragg. That should have been like a rookie cop walking naked into an Angels bar...why didn't the Bureau know about this?<br/><br/><em>Probably they do, dumbass. You just graduated what, four months ago? You think they tell you everything?</em>Or maybe- and just as likely- the 'intelligence' community had kept the diameter of the shitstorm hidden so they could scrape the egg off their faces.<br/><br/>As she skimmed the data about their unwanted guests- she'd always been a quick reader, and was used to picking up details from maps and blueprints fast; she'd sit down when she had a moment and go through it more carefully- one of the first things that stuck out was how the little bug-headed things reproduced, like something out of Alien.  And the MIBs appeared to be crack shots, which meant countersniper work.<br/><br/>Shivering a bit, she looked up at Jared with a weak grin. "Lions and tigers and bears. Oh, my. The bunnies ain't in the running."