<div class="floatright">(http://i.imgur.com/mDV66ep.jpg)</div><strong>Character:</strong>Oscar Valdez<br/><strong>Location/Time:</strong>Before 1000 Hours.  63 Wall Street, New York, New York.  Penthouse.  Conference Room --->  Kitchen --->  Armory<br/><strong>Attire:</strong>Blue-grey business jacket and slacks.  White dress shirt.  Black shoes.  Black sunglasses.<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Everyone in the room mentioned.  Interacting with Rose, Oestreicher.  Open to all.<br/><br/><hr/><br/><em>Did I walk into a gay porno shoot?</em>Oscar asked himself.<em>I'm surrounded by a bunch of stiffs.</em><br/><br/>Given how warm and friendly everyone seemed, there was a certain odd-man-out feeling going through his mind as he sat and listened to everyone speak.  It had seemed almost everyone there was affiliated with military or some sort of law enforcement.  Danika had seemed the exception to that, blowing bubbles with gum and doing little origami to pass time.  But hackers were often their own little entity, independents who were more connected to their computers than any sort of organization or group.<br/><br/>It made him wonder just how many had pulled the trigger and killed someone in their past.  To be military, it was one thing, if any of them had seen combat.  Killing someone in the heat of battle, ending the life of someone who wants to kill you.  How many of them were like him?  How many killed for something beyond duty to country or in the line of duty on the streets?  How many had killed for simply some cold, hard cash?<br/><br/>The fact that many of them seemed uncomfortable with an outright kill was telling.  Sure, he could see the merits of going in and taking care of business first.  It would only be more difficult to say the least, adding a headache to what was already going to be a challenge in “eliminating the target” in a Manhattan hotel.  Instead of something clean and quick, there were now other considerations to be made.  An ex-filtration with either an uncooperative or unconscious target, not even counting what all they'd have to snatch and grab in the room.<br/><br/>It seemed the only thing being killed any time soon was his vibe.  No easy-peasy job, followed by mai-tais and hookers after-party, it seemed.<br/><br/>His way would have been simple.  A silencer on a pistol.  A little investigating and cleaning up.  And a sexy little Gandalf working their magic on the computer.  Now, with the change of plans, with all of the considerations to be taken in, he was reminded why he liked avoiding government contracts.<br/><br/>Everything had to be nice and tidy.  Done just the way they wanted it, often trying to put their own into the operation just to ensure that.  Other employers only cared that you got the job done.  Sometimes in a certain way, to send a message.  But other than that, there was freedom in the job.  Liberty to select how the job got done/  Not like with the feds.<br/><br/>“Whatever you say.  I'll call ya whatever you want.” Oscar said to David, reaching into the inside pocket of his coat for a small pad and pen.<br/><br/>Time for a little shopping, he thought, clicking the pen into action before trying to figure out a plan.<br/><br/>Going in easy and just walking out was not going to be something so simple.  Adding an unconscious target, and who-knew-what in terms of packages from the room made that clear.  They couldn't just walk out of the place without drawing attention, running the risk of getting caught.  A Weekend at Bernie's type of excuse could be used, sure.  But with a tough, no-nonsense type like Temple, if she came along, would only make that difficult to successfully pull off.  With time, they might have been able to pull off some sort of elaborate ruse.  Costumes.  Props.  Even a sort of dry-run for practice.  The whole nine yards.<br/><br/>Instead, he was stuck working with only a few hours warning, with a group he had zero experience working with, zero knowledge about who they were, and their personality.<br/><br/><em>I wonder if I could slip away, find some hookers, and enjoy my last few hours of freedom before this whole thing fails...</em>He thought to himself.<em>I'm either dead or back in prison.</em><br/><br/>Option One, he wrote across the top of the small page.  It included having a small team, two or three, to enter the hotel, scout out security, and move in on the target.  Get Alpha unconscious, clean out the room, hit the fire-alarm, and move out in the chaos into a waiting car.  It didn't seem like a bad idea, perhaps the cheapest.  Potential problems with the crowds in the hotel, but easiest to blend in and move.<br/><br/>The page was ripped off, placed aside, before he went to another page.  Option Two.  It was not unlike the first option.  The second option, however, did away with the fire alarm and awaiting car, instead choosing to make use of the helipad on the roof of the hotel.  It might be costly, and he had no idea what there was in the group in terms of a pilot, but provided a very quick and easy way out of the place if their hacker could keep up with the F.A.A. and make sure they don't run into difficulties.<br/><br/>There were more options, more ideas running around in his mind, but given the time restrictions...<br/><br/>Oscar clicked his pen, shoving it back into his jacket pocket, along with his notes.  The box with his name and items had been scooped up into his arm, a free hand reaching for the glass that contained the remnants of his morning orange juice.<br/><br/>“Well, ladies, it's time to go see what Santy-Clause brought us.” He thought out loud, before departing the conference room.<br/><br/>He made a pit stop, depositing his box upon the table of the kitchen before refreshing his glass of juice.  Oscar had begun to make his way through the loft, pausing here and there to examine some of the rooms.  Soon he came to what appeared to be the armory, and one of his...  Associates?  Team Members?  New BFF? Whatever the term was, she seemed to be getting ready to leave the room.<br/><br/>“Ms. Rose.” Oscar said, giving her a deep, outlandish bow, before his eyes caught sight of the room behind her.<br/><br/>Oscar straightened up, looking into the room with an odd sense of glee in his eyes.  “<em>It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...</em>” He sang gently as he took a step into the room of various weaponry and firearms.<br/><br/>A low whistle of awe escaped his lips as he looked around.  Good stuff.  New stuff.  A hand went to one of the rifles upon the wall, running his hand over the stock of the high-powered killing machine.<em>I think I found my favorite room...</em>No flame thrower though, he thought with an internal frown.  He doubted he'd need such a thing.  But when in Rome...  It was definitely going on the Shopping List.<br/><br/>“Not bad.” He murmured to himself.  “Not bad at all.”