Cyron had a screen in his lap where he went through some data. At least that was what he was supposed to do. Instead, he found himself absent-mindedly looking at the sky. It was partly cloudy, and not unusual at all. Nonetheless, it felt like a storm was brewing. One of those electrical tingles that could be felt prior to a thunderstorm. He wasn't scared. He felt prepared for anything.<br/><br/>At the moment he was alone in the back of the car. He had henchmen and thugs and muscles and bodyguards and assassins, but they weren't always around. The driver was armed and the limousine armored like a tank. His most trusted henchmen (or -women, rather), were out having fun. A psychologist would probably get a kick out of analyzing why a man like Cyron Goode would surround himself with such strong, dominant women. One would never get that chance, of course.