<div class="floatleft">(http://i142.photobucket.com/albums/r94/anIrishlad/Sky_side_concept_bounty_hunter_by_Darcad_zpsd8d5b8f6.jpg)</div>The third to enter the briefing room, was James Morgan. His foot steps were light, those of man used to moving in such a manner, so not to give his position away. He had followed some buxom, blackhaired woman, in what he cold only describe as a leather fetish outfit, aboard and had kept behind her as they walked along the running lights. A small smile was on his lips, as he watched a very delightful ass sway side to side, even after they were joined by a second man? He wasn't so sure of their new companion's sex, given their appearance. Anything could have been under that armor but the sense of smell of his pet, being transmitted into his brain, was sure they picked up male human mingled with machinery.<br/><br/>He had come aboard like a vagabond, if a well armed one. Slung over his right shoulder was his Galactic Arms Mk IV Battle Rifle and over his left was a large pack, rather like a seabag, filled with all the odds and ends one might pick up in life. An old uniform, spare cloths, tool kit for his weapons, souvenirs, a shinny rock he had liked as a child and sitting on top of that, a score of magazines. He wore some of his better cloths, green shirt, black pants, combat boots, fingerless gloves and a reinforced vest, pouches bulging with more ammo. At his side of course, was a creature of scientific meddling. Silent and deadly, it stalked besides the man with a cat-like grace. Its eyes watched everywhere, making sure that he wasn't caught unaware, as he ogled.<br/><br/>That smiled vanished right off his face, however, when they reached the briefing room. Looking up from the swaying butt, he found nightmare made flesh, making him freeze in place at the back. Before them was Briar Bloodthorn. He knew the name, he knew her reputation and he knew she'd be connect with this Heavy Metal Inc but he had never known the face. Or rather, he didn't know the face and name were connected. He knew that face, it had seen it in the flesh once and in his dreams for five years now. It was hard to remember every detail of that day, every face of the enemy but there were those that stick out among the vague mob of rebels and their mercenary allies. The red head chainswording more then a handful of his brothers, was hard to forget.<br/><br/>Hands tightened on the straps hanging off his torso, the gloves hiding a white knuckled grip, as breath came sharp in his throat. Palms itched with the need for his knives but he mentally forced them not to slip down to the belt around his waist. He could feel his pet crouching besides him, ears flat, spine raised and ready to launch itself towards an old enemy. It was illogical to hate another mercenary, it was just a job and nothing personal when they clashed but he couldn't help it. She had helped kill his family. Bile burned in his guts, as he settled down, just the screen was showing reanimated version of Hal Hardlight. The smile returned for a brief moment, as the second of the trio, made a quip about Queen of Carnage. A harsh, nearly growling laugh rumbled in his throat, as he rolled his shoulders, readjusting the weight they were carrying.<br/><br/>A sneer rolled across his mouth for a moment, when the raven haired woman inquired about the remaining survivors of Morning Wood School for Girls and how expendable they were. His remaining biological eye focused on the screen, as he swallowed the need to spit. Oh he had done terrible things for pay, the least of which was quashing people fighting for their rights but the Red Hand had never cut down civies. Rebels? Sure thing. Violent mobs? You know it. Factory workers who had murdered or taken their supervisors hostage? Damn right.<br/><br/>"This wont be a habit" he asked slowly, none of his hate in his voice, reaching down to rub the smooth skin of his pet, "Fixing your blunders I mean?"