The old church was mostly quiet. There was broken stone where the altar used to be, spraypaint along the walls declaring blasphemy and some enterprising youth had chosen this place to house his own version of 'sistine chapel' roof, having spraypainted it during some bad drug-trip though, a psychedlic sight of freakiness. Yet amongst all that, the presence of only one man was there, an ork gentleman seated at one of the still intact benches, holding a book in his hands, and a suitcase resting next to him on the seat.<br/><br/>As Fang moved forth revealing her presence, the ork man drew a sharp gasp of air before sighing and relaxing. "Don't scare an old man like that." He smirked a hint, but smiled and nod. "You got what I asked you to recover?" He asked hopeful, his hand resting on the suitcase.<br/><br/>For an ork, he was trusting. There was no signs of a gun on him, nor any other weapons. No other guards as far as she could tell. If he had her reward with him, and no back-up and no weapons at hand either, he probably wouldn't have lived long with a less respectable sort of a shadowrunner. Still, he looked at her hopefully, quiet at the time.<br/><br/>Yet something moved. A little red dot, appearing on the seat's back, then rising up the man's back towards the side of his head as he looked at Fang.