8396/0-8-4 Files: 024

0-8-4 Files: 024
Date of Scene:	24 October 2021
Location:	Geneva Freeport
Synopsis:	An 084 is recovered, a man shot in the back of the head and... ghostbusting???
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Cael Becker, Gothic Lolita, Sara Pezzini, Sam Wilson, Jemma Simmons

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Jane Foster has posed:
Ibis Geneve Petit Lancy. Geneva. 1845 hours.

Nothing like HYDRA selling a suspect medical formula to cause a SHIELD team to assemble. Ninety minutes before Doctor Luc Rilker is set to enter the Geneva Freeport, the debriefing begins. The team occupies a large suite at a four-storey budget hotel several blocks away from La Praille, a tony fiefdom home to the Geneva Freeport. Maps project details, what few there are, of the neighbourhood and the lack of access to one of the world's most fortified vaults.

The Freeport sounds futuristic, all revolving restaurants, slick neon, and holoscreens. The truth is hardly that: an anonymous white block of installations and warehouses wouldn't look out of place in the DC suburbs under a three-letter acronym agency. Several brochures from different intelligence agencies indicate bedrock-level vaults and an impressive array of defenses that would make Tony Stark shiver in delight. Or annoyance. Both?

"This," Jane taps her finger against the front doors projected on a door, "is where Dr. Rilker will enter. Full array of detectors and scanners to be expected, full spectrum in infrared, ultraviolet, metal and chemical traces. The Freeport's computer systems are hardened and run off their own power supply. There's no such thing as a concierge desk inside. The concept of the Freeport is being able to access your personal vault or deposit box without ever seeing another person, unless you require one to come out from the steelwork. He will instead use codes that change every minute to head through doors to a pre-selected reception room, where he will be met by his contact. Doctor Rilker is 63, a Belgian national working for a German biotech firm in Metz. He has confirmed that he has a working copy of Medici, our target, which is a biological compound developed by HYDRA and firmly kept out of their hands until this year. Our concern for this? Let's worry about 2021 technology applied to Captain America's creation. We know Rilker will be leaving his room at the Marriott and travelling by taxi, and we know where he is. Let's discuss options."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael listens with a solemn - almost //peeved// expression as the briefing continues, her fingers tapping idly on a table. "Saying that security is tight here is a massive understatement. You've got Nazi gold being stored in there still. Lost Leonardo masterpieces. Priceless gems - it's rumored one of the Imperial Faberge eggs is stored in there. A frontal assault will bring down just about... as much firepower and security as you can possibly imagine. We have to be careful, stealthy, and slick," she points out.
    "Of course, anonymity is a major thing here, too, so there's the fact that our target will have no idea who else might have access... If we can find a way in."

Gothic Lolita has posed:
GL has come on yet another excursion for a forbidden object. She was, after all, created to be an infiltration unit. Granted, a unit that can also go toe to toe with Thor for about half a minute, but still. She leans in a corner, going through the files she'd pulled from the SHIELD database. She frowns a little and wishes her siblings were here. At least Stem Cell would be able to use this information more than GoLo can.

She tilts her head. "It's a rotating security code, but I wonder if they accounted for me. Who was designed to be able to hack my way into top secret black site operations. I can at the very least try to hook into their system and subvert it." She frowns. "That might mean I have to find a control center or node and stay there. I wouldn't be able to punch things for you."

She frowns bigger.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Sara was a detective, not a spy. She had no training in situations like this beyond the obvious, don't get shot. Looking around at those present, she wondered which of them had any experience in this area besides perhaps Jane herself. What she did have was information to offer, that the detective that she is, managed to obtain."Well, I'm going to be honest here, this is not my field of expertise," she says, then shakes her head. "No, that's not blunt enough, let me try again. I'm a detective, I have no idea about any of this spy stuff. So someone is going to have to pass me some instructions above and beyond the obvious."

She shifts slightly, pulling out a good old fashioned note pad, and continues, "However, here's what I managed to find out. The raid in Rome presented us with three important names. Luc Rilker, Mattias Koenig, and Lissa Samuals. I spent a great deal of time digging through files, on the computer, and pulling my hair out, but I got the connection."

"All three scientists work for major pharma/biotech firms and they're all specialists in cell rejuvenation therapies and recombining formulas. Now, they all responded to Tybalt when he reached out to them, but the way the documents line up, the smuggling ring was investigating them /long/ before they ever answered. Tybalt and his people have practically clinical details about each scientist's routines, interested, etc. They are all committed scientists to their work and are very, very well-funded and ambitious, but I found that Luc Rilker and Mattias Koenig are associated with AIM, and let me tell you find that was a pain in the ass."

After a soft snort, she finishes with, "Rilker's night is tonight, so we're talking an AIM-connected scientist walking into a bar in Geneva for a HYDRA-sponsered smuggler."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    There's been a frown set on Agent Wilson's face since they touched down in Switzerland. And not just because it's a bit too close to the German border, where he may or may not be a wanted man after unwillingly aiding and abetting the escape of a certain Sokovian criminal. He's been radiating unease this entire time; quiet, tense, not eating much. Basically all red flags that say something's up with Sam.

    "The last thing we need is to encourage half of the criminal underwold in Western Europe to hate SHIELD any more than they already do," he says, without looking up from the file he's been flipping through almost obsessively. He paces back and forth in the corner of the room he's set himself up in, drinking too much Swiss coffee. "Unless we want an entire community with little to no morals and billions of dollars of dirty money to start poking around in our business."

    Sam stops, at the table. He puts the file down--still open--and folds his arms over his chest. "Samuels has links to AIM too. Which brings me to my biggest concern: why the hell is a HYDRA smuggler like Tybalt in charge of a bunch of AIM techs? What, is HYDRA suddenly short on mad scientists?" Sam leans forward, braced on the edge of the table as he taps the file. "The Russians and Ukranians and the rest under HYDRA's thumb is one thing, but this? Whatever our plan is, we need to make sure we're not uncovered. And that we're ready for this to be a trap."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Jemma Simmons says, "I am familiar with their work."

The soft British tones of one Doctor Jemma Simmons is overheard as she steps forward. "Given the nature of the work involved, I would be surprised if they were not interested." There is a pause as Jemma considers. "What it seems we need is connections. Specifically, a person with medical expertise and intimate knowledge of RNA coding....to be able to speak the same language and pass off as possibly another interested party."

Simmons shrugs. "Or...we could go in fully armed...and watch our window of opportunity slip away." There is a moment of hesitation..."I mean, if we are going for stealth...I see really one option..."

Anyone care to guess what that is?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Photographs of Dr. Rilker reveal a somewhat portly man, jowly and fashionably spectacled, with cropped, greying hair. Not the ultra-athletic sort or ex-military. "Rilker is still on-site at the ritzy Marriott, three and a half kilometers away. We're monitoring his movements and when his car pulls up, we will know. That gives us a window to join him en route or on-site, as Becker suggests." Jane nods to Cael. "Gothic Lolita, if you can bypass entry credentials, that would get us inside legitimately and in place. Tybalt gives us another issue to bypass. He is a ranking mafiya member and may have his people in place. If not on site, then around it. We did not recover any instructions to Rilker, Koenig, or Samuels only to come alone."

Mulling over Jemma and Sam's suggestions, she stays silent for a good minute. Sara's information is tapped in to her tablet, then she sets that aside to pace along the wall. "Are we suggesting a substitution that means he passes off the compound to us, assuming we are HYDRA? We can insert you, Simmons, as one of the medical panel. With lines of backup potentially. German or French speakers will have some advantage on that."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Alas, I'm a dumb American. I only speak English," Cael remarks wryly. "And I don't know anything about science, either, so I'm not sure what role I can really play in an infiltration..." She looks towards Sam and Sara - who she expects are both in a similar position to herself. "Doesn't feel good sending one of our own in - all on their own like that," she points out, a thoughtful frown on her features. But isn't it their best chance?
    "Can we get some of us in under the guise of security? To be nearby in case of trouble... Not sure that'd work for Wilson, he's got the highest profile face of all of us."

Gothic Lolita has posed:
GL nods once. "I should be able to do that, no problem. If this place is locked down tighter than something the Livewires would have gone after, well." She smiles. It's almost sinister. "Then the old programming might get tripped, and it'll get real noisy. After all, what we're after is a black project bioweapon. The kind of thing I was built to destroy."

Oh no.

"Hopefully it won't go bad like that. I'm pretty confident that I can get us in. If we have to deal with security staff, well. Punch them."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Folding arms lightly across her chest, Sara leans against a wall where she can still see the maps and hear everything going on.

"I speak Italian," she comments in regards to other languages. "But you put me in a suit, that may be destroyed, and I look the part of security because of my training. I can also understand Cantonese and Mandarin, but I can't speak them." She pauses... "Oh, and apparently Japanese as well, didn't know that."

She looks over those present again. "If we can avoid going in guns blazing, I'm all for it, the less chance someone innocent can get hurt that way, but I can also be ready for it should it come down to it. There's likely not a wall in that place that I can't hack through."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
A singular nod is given to Jane. "I can speak French." Of course Jemma can. "If that is what we need, then it would make sense to indeed put a substitution in place. And, as much as it pains me to say as such, it would make sense to insert me into that play. I have the knowledge to blend in."

Of course, there is another reason why Jemma would do it. With this being a SHIELD Operation...she is the highest ranking agent here. And, Jemma isn't about to put anyone else at risk.

Well...maybe the Avenger.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam's been staring at the countenance of one Dr. Luc Rilker for some time now. Well, glaring might be a better term for it, because he's had his game-face on this entire time, and Rilker's a good focus for it. Every cell in his body is vibrating with wariness.

    And he's learned to trust his gut on these sorts of things.

    "I can speak French," he says. "And if I try, I can even keep the Creole out of it." When Becker brings up his semi-famous face (admittedly, most of the time people don't recognize him unless he's standing next to Captain America) Sam only shrugs, and glances over at Jemma as he adds, "I've done the bodyguard gig a time or two while undercover."

    He presses a closed fist against his mouth, momentarily silent, expression distant and considering. "If this goes sideways, it might be a good idea to have a heavy hitter," and here he nods to Pezzini, "With us. I'm not useless without my wings, and I can have Redwing in the air nearby on standby, but if things go south--" The tone of Sam's voice suggests that when he said 'if' he actually meant 'when,' "It'd be good to have someone who can tank some hits and direct fire away. Maybe give us a chance to go for a snatch and grab as a last resort."

    Then he looks over at Sara, with a casual up-down. "Stick to clipped Italian, look vaguely pissed off, and I don't think anyone will question you."

Jane Foster has posed:
Taking a proper survey of their options, Jane nods. "Then we have the basis for a plan. Gothic Lolita gets on site to admit us and handles the electronic infiltration to redirect Rilker to a designated location. Simmons will be the receiving source there to accept the handoff. That puts Wilson, Pezzini, and Becker in a security role with her, which should be expeted." Each point she pauses on, assuring their agreement; this may be sort of her rodeo, but more experienced minds and all. "That leaves me, which can be coordination to back up Gothic Lolita and the local office if things turn pear-shaped. We can't afford a scientist recognizing me, with no good story why I'm conveniently in a Geneva vault."

Stealing those ancient Islamic astrolabes, probably not legitimate.

"If we're in agreement, we've got seventy-nine minutes until Rilker reaches the Freeport. Any other preparatoins?" she asks.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I think we're good. Just need to get kitted up and into place," Cael remarks easily, pushing herself to her feet. She looks ready to put words into actions, but she makes sure she passes by Sam - shooting the man a brief, concerned look. It seems she'd noticed his aggetation - and she really is trying to be a little less of a bitch. "Good to go?" she asks in a quiet voice, pausing long enough for his reply, before she'll move out to slip into something almost guaranteed to be less comfortable.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam's shoulders flex, and then he rolls his neck with a slow exhale. He opens his eyes as Cael walks by, and shakes his head. "Bad vibe, is all. Be prepared for the shit to hit the fan." At least with their cover identities as bodyguards, they have an excuse to wear armor under their clothes and have weapons on them. But he would still much prefer to have his wings with him.

    No time for complaining, though. Time to gear up and roll out.

Jane Foster has posed:
Geneva Freeport. 1935 hours.

A fair span before Dr. Luc Rilker is expected to roll up to the Geneva Freeport in a black sedan, and the team has the main entrance to the Freeport in sight. A large four-lane road sweeps past the east side of the building. Multiple underground loading bays cover the west side, a web of guards, cameras, and hidden sensors monitoring any trucks that come by. None do. The main entrance is quite literally accessible up a concrete path about as dull as the rest of Geneva; the Swiss aren't known as champagne sparkly people like their Italian and French neighbours. A round drive makes dropoff for a hired car or SHIELD driver easy enough.

Jane certainly has the latter arranged; no way in heck is she just walking up the street to wander in. However Gothic Lolita chooses to sneak or ride, she's under at least the brunette's surveillance once she gets on site, even if that means being across the street ostensibly working with a meter maid. The other team have time to get into place.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
One again, Sara's lack of modesty shows as it is out of the temporary clothing she had been wearing, and into a suit, a nice suit... a really nice suit actually. Black, double breasted, tailored to fit her body, nice silk shirt, and a pair of smart lace up dress shoes. Yes, they would likely end up destroyed, but that was the way of things. ICER in the holster under the jacket, no way to tell it's there, and the final touch a pair of Italian sunglasses.

"Business body guard at your service," she comments, turning once. The only piece of jewelry on her is the silver band bracelet with giant red stone, as usual. "I'm ready."

Gothic Lolita has posed:
GL, in the intervening time, had a decision to make. Maintain style or opsec.

This decision takes most of her time before they leave.

Apparently, she decided to be a team player and look less, well, conspicuous. She arrives on site in a smart suit. Black and businesslike with a white blouse with no tie. Instead of pants, she's wearing a slightly shorter than knee length skirt, black hose and low heels. It's very professional.

As they arrive, she gets out of the car, adjusting her jacket with a frown. "This stuff is uncomfortable. I miss my dress." Still, it's time to work. She moves to the entrance keypad and expands her digital presence, hunting for their wifi network. When she finds it, she will do her best to piggyback into it. She's even going to avoid brute forcing her way on, because that's noisy.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael cleans up pretty well, honestly - and looks good in a suit. She's opted for slacks rather than a skirt, and would give a dark and unfriendly look to anyone who suggests otherwise. A little bulk is added to her form by the addition of armor under the dress shirt - as well as the weapons secured into place under her jacket, //one// of which fires ICER rounds (sometimes it's nice to have options). She waits for the signal to proceed, her gaze flicking about for a moment as if searching for something - but there's nothing to be seen. Nothing that catches the eye, anyways.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Unfortunately the suit Sam arrives in isn't his Falcon gear. He wishes it was, because the knot in the pit of his stomach telling him there's something else going on here hasn't left. But Sam only takes some time to do a few breathing exercises in the bathroom--in, two three four, hold two three four, out two three four, hold two three four--and he's ready, most of the tension gone from his posture.

    Well, there's a little tension left. Just a smidge. Because it fits well with his cover identity as a bodyguard. He's got someone else's face on, and a relatively expensive (though not flashy) designer suit, definitely purchased on SHIELD's dime, that is purposefully tailored to mostly hide the shape of the body armor he's wearing beneath it. Same goes for the various weaponry on his person.

    A single tap at the side of his sunglasses links him up with Redwing, hovering high above in stealth mode. The drone's chirpy, robotic voice can be heard a time or two over comms, though Sam himself is only answering in French.

    Gotta practice just a little bit to keep the Creole accent out, is all.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Jemma....well, Jemma is dressed as only Jemma can. Which is to say that she is probably the only person who is in a dress...and wishes she wasn't. This dress, though....it is definitely a power dress. Black and fitted for her, there is definitely no mistaking that she certainly looks to be the one in charge. Even her hair, normally down and on her shoulders, is up and proper, designed to evoke the feeling that this person is used to getting her way.

Definitely a transformation. Which causes Jemma to at least look all sorts of uncomfortable. Because, after all, when was the last time she ordered anyone if it wasn't a medical emergency?

"I feel positively ridiculous in this. Just imagine if Fitz caught me in this." The comment is said to no one in particular as Jemma adjusts the hem on the dress, lining it up just so. "And I only had so much time to prepare. I certainly hope I channel 'evil overlord' properly here." The phrase was said in jest, but only just.

Jemma sets a com piece into her ear, as she appraises Sam's new look. "I see why you asked for the nano mask. I do have to admit, it suits. Your reasonings were sound." Yes....she appreciates the look and consideration. She also probably appreciates that hey, she has people looking out for her, too.

Jane Foster has posed:
For all the Freeport lacks personnel throughout the interior labyrinth of white walls, grey floors, and windowless rooms, the front doors are another story. Inside reside the metal detectors and silent defenses that eventually Jemma and her entourage must pass.

The WiFi network can be netted, GoLo attempts to tap on the doors and run countless password attempts to crack in a bit tough. A bit, but she starts to pry a way in. Gothic Lolita is built for this endeavour, though anyone loitering near the doors gets attention. Specifically of a guard who steps out in his high-vis vest over a very certainly bulletproof one to go and talk with her. In French; c'est Geneve! Not Zurich. Boo Zurich. "May I help you?" Bland, dull, polite: Switzerland by brushstroke, really, his tone. "You are lost, perhaps?"

The universal code of 'why are you here' plays out while the others take their spaces. Getting through the doors means being subjected to elegant, perfunctory checks, swept to check for weapons, gear, no heat signatures to speak of, other oddities. Three staff are present for this, one with a decidedly too sharp and alert feel that Sam and Cael can pick out. It's just a sense of experience.

Beyond them, the closed doors. Past that, trouble.

Gothic Lolita has posed:
Being an artificial lifeform has its perks. One of which is the ability to crack the password with part of her brain while play-acting in real life. She glances behind as Jemma and the crew starts approaching. She works faster. At the same time, she speaks french to the guard. Her accent is flawless. Thank you, permanant internet in the brain.

"<I am with her, just ran ahead slightly. So sorry.>"

She keeps pushing, trying to time her cracking of the passwords with Jemma's arrival to the door and getting let through. It has to be perfect.

As for the DNA scanners and whatnot, unless there's a scale to read weight, GL can pass as a perfectly mundane human. Even via X-ray because the Livewires are filthy cheaters. Her only real tell as to her true nature is her weight.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael stays near Jemma, her gaze alert and her eyes scanning - her attention fixing briefly on the guards emerging from the door they were heading towards, and offering a brief nod of acknowledgement, before seeming to dismiss them. After all, they were all on the 'same side' as it were in this situation, right? All guards who have clearly been thoroughly scrutinized by security and have every right to be here - and clearly pose no threat, right? Riiiiight.
    She looks ready for trouble, without appearing on edge, her features a stoic and serious mask.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
With Loli's timing, Jemma just pushes forward. Her entourage of bodyguards looks intimidating, which is really the point, while Jemma herself manages to muster a disinterested expression as she steps forward. <I have a schedule to keep. Let's make this quick.> The guards that are not on her payroll get cursory glances at best as she attempts to work her way through the checkpoints to get to the meeting point.

Meanwhile, a murmur of thanks is given to Loli as Jemma passes by. It could be easily mistaken as just a passing comment, but there is overtones of gratitude in there. Jemma wouldn't be able to do have of her rather quickly put together performance without Loli. Eye contact to Sam, then Cael...and finally to Sara. Each look the same. All saying one thing.

Watch out for trouble.

Especially as they walk ever closer to it.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Sara keeps herself at a few step distance from Jemma, working the angle of being the 'before you get to her, deal with me' angle of being security. She looks the part, just enough tension in her body, a stoic, serious expression, and a gleam in her ever scanning green eyes that could be taken for dedication to the one task she has. She's not shy about making it known that Jemma is her ward, and anyone who wants to get near her will in fact have to deal with the chestnut haired woman.

As they enter, her position doesn't change, some how she manages to keep herself exactly two steps from where ever it is Jemma walks, almost as if she can read the woman's mind and knows where she's going. Truth is, in her scanning of the people around them she is already reading Jemma's body language and predicting from it where she will go.

Once nice thing about Witchblade, that applies to this situation even if right now he's a lovely bracelet... he has danger sense. He can shout out a warning to Sara that trouble is coming even before it actually starts, giving the woman a 'head up' on everything that could happen before it does.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Now that he's settled into character, such as it is, Sam is quiet. There's no name associated with the identity he's inhabiting, so it's little more than a pastiche of his military training and a few mannerisms from one especially intimidating bouncer he remembers from his harder partying days during basic training. To Jemma, he only nods and offers a succinct "Oui."

    But he's got her back, and the backs of the other agents on the team. He gives the guard that approaches a quick once-over before, apparently deeming him a non-threat, Sam looks away to watch the area surrounding them carefully. And he may not have the danger sense that Witchblade provides Sara, but Sam's got plenty of situational awareness, so he's doing his best to watch everyone's six.

Jane Foster has posed:
Jemma mustn't be the only one to run the gauntlet with such an entourage. Mafiya dons and oil sheikhs aren't likely walking through without less than six people to reinforce power. The eerie quiet inside the climate-controlled building speaks a world apart from Geneva's grey autumn evening. No sounds penetrate from the street, an indicator of how heavily insulated it is. The guards watch expectantly in a way that looks past the person but seeks to see if they bypass authorizing forces. Loli's efforts cut through the red tape, creating a false front, though whatever identity she selects from the deep database stretching back to 1890 or so is another matter. Jemma Simmons and company sail through the doors with a click of heels and cool, hissing metal.

Then they are alone, sealed off in a not-quite hermetic tomb of amber panels and drug wealth, fabulous art and fabulously tacky artifacts. The segmented warehouse rests on several floors, most below-ground. Some kind of floorplan isn't easy to pick out, though Jane's efforts to acquire proper maps at least give them a start with offices honeycombed on the subfloor #1 and floor #1 above. Tactically following the maps fed through Sam's friendly drone or what they saw in the hotel gives an option.

Tybalt and crew must be somewhere, but they aren't roaming the hallways. Yet. Hushed halls might only lead the sense of something wrong. Increasingly wrong, as they pass sealed doors. So quiet. Waiting.

<Rilker is in motion.> Jane's warning comes over the comms. <Left five minutes ago. Inbound in fifteen minutes by traffic. Get into position, they probably will be monitoring him too.>

Jemma Simmons has posed:
For the amount of time that Jemma had to prepare for her Hydra routine, she seems to be handling herself rather well. Her footfalls are precise, as is the power dress that she is wearing. "We will take this conference room." 'This room' happens to be an somewhat intimate affair...and reflective of what would be considered rather authoritarian. A table, with two chairs across from each other. Apparently, the guards are not to sit. More intimidating that way.

A tap of the commlink in her ear, and Jemma's voice cuts through for Jane and the others. "Keep watch for our multi-headed friends. This conference room should be direct enough to have Rilker come to us without too much hassle. Let's be sure to give him a little assist here."

With that, Jemma takes her seat, facing the doorway. Her entourage is given free reign to do as they will....while Jemma adopts her cool demeanor. The one she practiced in the rearview mirror on the way in. A casual, dis-interested look, with those brown eyes directly on the door opposite her.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
As they reach the chosen room, Sara pauses to let Sam and Cael enter the room with Jemma, then she takes up a position at the door. Sometimes being a guard means being outside, making sure no unwanted guests join the meeting, and she has chosen to take that position. She offers a nod to Jemma, then Sam and Cael as they enter, then tucks her hands behind her and starts watching the hall.

"Station one secure," she states as if that means something to anyone. Really it's to play the part and let the other's know she will be remaining there unless needed inside. This will allow her to also inform them when someone is approaching and then Rikler is coming.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    A quick nod of acknowledgment is exchanged as Sara stays outside, and Sam proceeds into the room with Cael. He keeps his expression schooled into something that looks vaguely annoyed (or maybe constipated) which reflects well on the fairly ugly mug that the photostatic veil is projecting across his face.

    Once Jemma has sat down, he stands behind her, taking one flanking position. His arms cross in front of his body, hands grasped together, and Sam says nothing.

    But in his ear Redwing is giving reports of the traffic passing by outside as the drone remains hidden in the sky above, waiting.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Moving as if this is all planned, Cael steps past Sara and into the room - taking up a position at Jemma's shoulder, just a few feet from Sam. It makes sense, really - to leave the woman with the magical gifts at the door, the first and last line of defense. She stands with her feet comfortably a shoulder's width apart, one hand resting lightly on the opposite wrist, looking forward with a bored yet attentive expression.
    She tries to ignore the voice at the back of her brain whispering about the lost treasures and stolen art pieces that are probably just beyond the wall. It's ridiculous and quite //literally// an international crime.
    But that's not what they were here to deal with today.
    Still. If she can get her hands on anything small and convenient on their way out...

Jane Foster has posed:
Gothic Lolita handles the override of the security system, and the work requires all the concentration she can muster. If push comes to shove, the team has security backup, but being a floor down meshed in visible and unseen protective measures runs a risk. Jane's job is coordination and observation, waiting for the scanners to go somewhat haywire when they attempt to make sense of her. An unamused guard abandons his post to deal with these two strangers, giving them seconds and change.

The group can get into place, assembled around Jemma. Hurry up and wait seems to be the message, here.

Dr. Rilker's car takes longer to arrive in the cul-de-sac outside. He carries a solid briefcase and wears a business suit, looking displeased when the driver doesn't hop to opening the door quickly enough. He scoffs and maneuvers out of the car, the briefcase clutched to his chest. "Get on with it, out of the way." His German is roughly infused by Walloon overtones; he's a Belgian, and sounds the part. Headed promptly for the front doors sees him passing the women, not even bothering to concern himself with the scanners. They'll pick him up regardless.

Which triggers an alert almost immediately, fed through the network, pinging a device somewhere on the ground floor and another one storey down into the vaults.

<<He's in communication with two secure devices. We're working on the decryption. Assume Tybalt and company.>> Jane doesn't sound delighted, but it's succint. <<Visuals not confirmed.>>

Jemma Simmons has posed:
<<Acknowledged.>>

A single word answer, tinged with that British tone. Jemma remains upright, those hands of hers placed on the table, resting patiently. She doesn't bother with her commlink for the next bit as she speaks solely to her immediate entourage. "Before we get started, thank you. And....I do apologize for any feigned disinterest in the immediate future. We all have our parts to play, alas."

It's...disjointing...to hear Jemma's pleasant mannerisms as her expression remains neutral. But, it seems important to her to at least get that out in the open. Then, with a nod, she resumes her quiet waiting, shifting fully back into the role of Hydra higher up. While she might be panicking a little on the inside....she seems perfectly calm on the surface.

It would certainly seem that little Jemma got at least somewhat comfortable with the art of deception.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Standing at the door, straight backed, watching the hall and anyone who even thinks about walking down it, Sara keeps herself in 'character'. Really it wasn't that difficult to be a guard, it's what she did naturally. Keep your eyes open, read the body language, and watch where people are going, all those things came naturally to a cop.

As the moments of 'hurry up and wait' passed, she never once stopped watching the hall in the direction they had come from, with quick glances the other direction just to make sure, she could see the moment Rikler entered the hall with the briefcase clutched to his chest.

<"Quarry incoming, briefcase in hand"> she says quietly into the comm, not changing her position and keeping her eyes on the man. As he approached, she offered a nod and reached to open the door for him, that's it, nothing more.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    The French with which Sam answers has no lingering traces of the Creole relatives that taught it to him. "<<Quarry is being tracked.>>" By who, he doesn't know yet, but Redwing up in the sky is doing its little robo-best to try and triangulate the receivers of the data packets that Rilker is sending out.

    In the meantime, though? All he can do is stand there, stiff-spined, and do his best to look the part. He nods towards Jemma and remains silent, as their target begins his approach.

    Behind the sunglasses that feed Redwing's data in for Sam's persual, his eyes shift to look towards the open door. But his head remains aimed forward.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Ma'am, best to focus on the task at hand," Cael responds calmly, and cooly. Yes, they do all have their parts to play - and hers is to look stern, attentive, and capable no matter what comes through the door - so she continues to stand in a ready stance, waiting for whatever was coming through the door.
    Maybe all of this would go smoothly, and they'd simply stride out the door with the package in hand. It //is// possible for a plan to go smooth. ...isn't it?

Jane Foster has posed:
Dr. Rilker comes alone. He barely spares a look for the two women accosted by a guard in the wide foyer, as the Geneva Freeport is meant to be a place of business and secrecy. An entourage from the Qatari royal family or a square serving Wayne Enterprise could show up and not get an eyelash batted. He orients on the main set of doors, and won't pause until he is on the other side. Then out comes his phone to check his whereabouts, easily spotted as he refers to some kind of note. The brief hesitation is picked up by Redwing, Gothic Lolita, and their other watchers.

Sam's friendly eyes in the sky might recognize the microsecond ping delays for the closer marks, moving in. Someone aboveground in the four floors above. Another shifting near the loading bays underground. Third still some distance off, not moving. They're fanned out beautifully. Professionally.

The Belgian starts again, and Sara holding open the door hurries him along with the slap of his soft Oxfords audible. He forces out, "Good evening. Fine weather we're having?" He doesn't hurry inside, clutching the briefcase. Gothic Lolita starts running a video of an empty room awaiting someone to show up. Jane plugs in the details and signals swarm to a specific pattern, triggering another doorway and an elevator call halfway across the floor.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Doorknob turning is all the indication Jemma needs that it is time to put on the act. The right hand shifts to rest upon the left as those brown eyes shift to regard the door opening. With the door opening, the partially obscured form of the not-so-good Doctor Rilker is visible...as well as his attempt of conversation with Sara outside, doing her best impassive guard impression.

Which, from what Jemma can see, is pretty damn good.

Time for Jemma to start with her own part. "Please, Doctor. Let us dispense with the idle pleasantries. Come in. We have much to discuss and a limited time to do so." The tone...is passingly polite, but with steel underneath the words. Those who know Jemma might recognize it as Jemma's own 'doctor' voice..the one she uses when dealing with particularly troublesome patients to *impress* upon them the importance of doing as she says. It is a tone she uses to great effect when needed.

Perhaps Dr. Rilker will be similarly inclined to do as Jemma states...for there was no asking.

There will be no asking. Not for this exchange.

Should the Belgian look into the room, he will find that the woman in the power dress is sitting, patiently, with those eyes right on him....and a guard at each shoulder. Surely, this must be the meeting location.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Without changing her position at all, Sara remains at the edge of the open door but she offers no words to the man. The nod was all he was going to get, and the kindness of having the door opened for him. He could choose to do as Jemma told him to do, or he could walk on, which would end up a mistake in the end... the choice was in his hands.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Rilker gets even less from Sam than he does Sara. Not even a nod of acknowledgment. No real sign at all that the bodyguard behind Jemma. On her left, naturally.

    But he's observing, still, behind the smokescreen of his sunglasses. Of both the man, and the positions of the man's watchers from afar. Whoever Dr. Rilker thinks has his back, Sam suspects he's going to be very disappointed. With any luck, they'll be gone before any of them even think to start running.

Cael Becker has posed:
    With no sunglasses to mask her gaze, Cael's sizing up of Rilker is obvious - and completely in character, as she appears to be checking the man for possible concealed weapons, and making an assessment of how he moves, and what capabilities he might have. Her expression, however, remains an impassive and determined mask. The consummate professional who wants to finish the job, do it well, get paid, and go home.

Jane Foster has posed:
Rilker stands inside the room, giving a look over the rather barren interior. Whatever he expected, his stance reads a near interrogation space wasn't it. His back goes up, but he shuffles closer to the table. "You are?" Watch him be blunt about it. "I have questions how you intend to verify my work from here. This... place... hardly sanitary." It may be spotless, but the Geneva Freeport is more like the world's largest vault for stolen art and science, not a medical-grade lab. His dismay might ring a bell with any physician or scientist. Cross-contamination, egads!

Sara he ignores, for the large part. Cael gets a second look, marking where she stands. He doesn't sit first until someone indicates, and then it's with a stiffness suggesting weight, a maimed knee or ankle. Really, this is not a person who inspires ideas of having mountainous strength under a jellied exterior. He isn't the Red Sentinel or Ursa -- and Ursa really would have opinions.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Once Rilker steps into the room, Sara swings the door closed and now she steps in front of it. No one is entering that room now, and really no one was coming out until the signal was given by those inside. It was a nice suit, but she'd let Witchblade shred it if needed, and her gut was telling her that this was too smooth, too easy, he was going to get to shred that suit before the day was done.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
The Brit's eyes roll slightly as Rilker asks for a name. "I am no one to be trifled with." A casual enough answer, though the chill in the tone is palpable. "I am also not intending to fully verify your work in this room, under these conditions. This was not my preferred method. However, regardless of verification, my employer is very much interested in your work and is willing to claim it as is, despite my objections."

Jemma leans forward. "However, if you must know who I am, then...my name is Weiss. Doctor Weiss. I believe that should be sufficient enough for now, yes?"

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam is a statue. While Cael checks the good (bad) doctor surreptitiously for any weapons that might be visibly outlined through his clothing, Dr. Rilker doesn't even warrant a second glance. That's how little he apparently ranks as a potential security concern in Sam's--or whoever Sam is pretending to be--opinion.

    Up in the air above, Redwing swerves out of the way of a Eurasian Sparrowhawk who nearly collides with the drone, on account of Redwing's stealth retroreflectors being activated. Then Redwing beeps quietly in mild outrage. RUDE.

Cael Becker has posed:
    One she's done checking Rilker over, and apparently dismissing him as a threat, Cael's eyes go forwards again with that studious expression that implies 'I see nothing. I near nothing.' In fact, if she were ever asked, she was home on her couch with a beer at the time. Obviously.

Jane Foster has posed:
<<Retreating to the entrance. GL still is in the network.>> Quiet warnings over the comms announce when Jane is bound back for the door, since apparently breaking someone's very expensive metal detector and throwing anomalous results from the other scans is going to bring out the guard and possibly his friend. She doesn't smile, but rather adopts a little something of arrogance learned firsthand... from Victor von Doom. So the arrogant curl of her lip and the flat, ice-cold stare summoned from memory and proximity bleed disdain.

Nothing shows on the monitors in a definitely occupied room.

Rilker doesn't relax much. You try relaxing with goons around! Even nicely dressed ones. He tries not to sit on his coattails, the briefcase put in front of him. "Doctor Weiss." German, common, it will do. "My understanding then is the delivery brings the rest of the payment. When can I expect confirmation of the results and an offer?"

Jemma Simmons has posed:
"Confirmation will be given within 24 hours of this meeting, with an offer attached at that point. As you can imagine, verification takes time, which is why I would rather speed this along." Jemma leans back, her pleasant but cool expression slipping to that of minor annoyance...all the more convincing when discussing the need for haste. "It should be common sense that the sooner I can verify your results, the sooner you will receive your payment. And, judging by the interest my superiors have expressed, I would imagine your offer would be *quite* considerable."

The good Doctor Weiss is certainly not playing around, at least outwardly. "I will be performing the verification, if that calms your nerves somewhat. I will assure you that the moment we confirm the results you will be notified." A pause as those brown eyes level upon Rilker. "Do we have an acceptable arraignment?"

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Slowly... so slowly that it is impossible to tell that he's moving at all, Sam's head turns towards Dr. Rilker. And though sunglasses shield his eyes, the gaze he pointedly aims right between Rilker's eyebrows has an almost physical weight as it burns into him.

    Redwing feeds snapshot after snapshot of the Eurasian Sparrowhawk riding the thermals a few feet away from the drone overhead, and Sam's jaw grits faintly from the need to contain his enthusiasm. That is a COOL BIRD.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael remains utterly unaware of Sam's disguised glee - or the pain and suffering they are all in for on their way home on the Quinjet. She doesn't even glance over towards her partner - instead, her gaze flicks towards Rilker, her expression shifting momentarily to a disapproving 'really?' As if she can't believe he's trying to complicate a simple job - when they could all already be on their way home.

Jane Foster has posed:
Dr. Rilker stares back at Sam. He truly doesn't like the man or the woman guarding things, and he doesn't like Weiss. "As if there's much choice," he mutters in German. "Fine. See it done."

Sam's lovely little friend midair is an intrigue. No one is looking up for a bird, though. They are looking for the routine movements of the pinging cascade that suggests a target isn't moving and in the building. Sara is probably the first to hear the tramp of boots approaching down the long hall. Redwing gets the signal. Gothic Lolita, too, sends a scrambled pulse, hitting a fire alarm. Well, a silent alarm that won't spray water or foam everywhere.

An unseen spectre hanging out in the vicinity too notices things, though not much on the human side. She is infinitely happier to peruse through non-ghost-warded vaults, and around the low humming warning from an adjacent room, rushes back to speak of cool findings. Like a gold-dipped Converse sneaker and some fugly jewelled objects in a huge glass cube. Or it looked like glass. Acrylic?

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Well, the dislike is mutual. Which is true not only for Weiss...but for Jemma herself. This...was a scientist before her who is just looking for a payday. Hardly the proper type of scientist, at least in Jemma's eyes. She channels that dislike...and slowly stands. "Very well then. The briefcase, if you please."

The hand is held out, expectedly. Jemma standing is not just a casual thing. She stands because that way Rilker has to look up to her. "It will be done. Let us get this over with."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Sara's head jerks up even as the red stone of the bracelet begins to swirls like red smoke trapped in glass. Then she hears the footsteps coming toward the room, at the beginning of the long, just before anyone night be visible.

Her voice is low and calm as she says, <"Incoming assailant."> Whether it was her will or Witchblade who decided in that moment, the metal tendrils spring forth to form the gauntlet on her right hand, then from there into the armor that encases her body. <"I got this one, more likely incoming.">

Even in the hall the wings spring to life on her back, a bastard sword in her right hand, and her left reaches forward toward the one coming down the hall to give a 'come and get it' gesture.

Jane Foster has posed:
It's on the table, and Rilke shoves it over to Simmons as fast as he can. He's not particularly eager to keep the thing.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Technically the feeling isn't mutual because Sam isn't expending mental energy to care about this guy one way or another. Mostly he just wants to never see Dr. Rilker ever again. Also that is, look, he's gotta say... a really cool bird.

    If only Sam knew about Redwing's secret Instagram photography account with all of the drone's artful Earthporn posts.

    Though he doesn't visibly react when Sara announces the movement of hostiles outside the room, Sam eyes the briefcase. Technically they have the goods... now they just have to leave with it.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Now Sam isn't the only one struggling to keep a straight face - though Cael isn't being distracted by pretty images from a metal bird song. Nope - she's being whispered at by the spirit no one else can currently see or hear.
    To be fair, she can't see the teenaged ghost herself - just hear the girl's excited whispers about the objects she found and (before Cael can find any way to surreptitiously respond) her excited desire to take one of the objects. After all - Cael'd been looking at a picture of it just the night before.
    Great, great. Things are about to get real interesting.
    Of course, that's right about the same time she hears Sara speaking in her ear, as well. ... at least Alis won't be the only thing going fubar on this mission.

Jane Foster has posed:
The tramp of footsteps down the long corridor doesn't resolve into a flotilla of people, just the one at first. A gentleman in a perfectly respectable black suit emerges, no doubt being wired in to someone else. Another twenty meters away, a second similarly dressed emerges from a room. They aren't immediately pulling guns, though the sight of a woman with a bastard sword really ought to slow someone down. It doesn't. Not exactly, though the murmurs are so soft and lips moving so fast that any message conveyed has to be a short one.

Rilker looks a bit green around the gills, since he can read a room, even an ugly one. "Is this truly what you think of..." His eyes drop to the briefcase. Anger flashes in his eyes, and the decision he weighs out changes only briefly. "I will wait for the next contact and confirmation." That no sooner said, he pushes the chair back and heads away from the SHIELD entourage, preferring the door entirely. No farewells, he's seeing himself out.

Another ping converges on an elevator. Doors slip open.

<<Time to go.>>

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Oh....that is not good news in Jemma's ear. Not good at all.

Her hand reaches over and takes the briefcase. A glance is given to Sam first, then to Cael. "We need to leave. Feel free to improvise." The tone has changed...not as much resting bitch...but certainly concerned. Hurried.

A tap to the commlink. <<package obtained. Advise on exiting.>> And...a glance upwards to Rilker as he turns to leave. A frown grows on her face as the Belgian attempts to leave.

Without a word, Jemma turns to Cael, unholstering the ICER from her, turning, and shooting Rilker in the back of the head. Then, as the man drops, Jemma turns back, replacing the weapon and flashing Cael a smile. "Thanks."

Jemma must have really not like the guy.

"Let's get out of here..."

Jane Foster has posed:
With a dendrotoxin delivered at short range, the plump Belgian doesn't stand a chance. Jemma shooting him brings him down like a ton of wobbly bricks, crashing just short of the actual door. The sound isn't subtle at all, though soundproofed doors are useful. If only this one weren't just being opened.

Their escape awaits.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Outside the door Sara will ensure that anyone who attempts to interfere with the team exiting the room will find themselves dually challenged. She won't kill unless she has to, though Witchblade is not always of a like mind in these matters.

"I would strongly suggest that each and every one of you move back the way you came," Sara warns in a tone filled with power and authority. She is not threatening, that is a waste of time, instead she is speaking plain and simple truth.

As she turns the sword slightly with her hand to let the length of it be shown, she steadies her body into a prepared stance for an attack. "I don't want to have to kill you, but I will not hesitate to do so should you choose poorly. The choice is now yours to make, approach and die, or save your lives by leaving."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Down Rilker goes, and Sam gives a quick roll of his neck. "Nice shot," is all he says as he rounds the table Jemma was previously seated at. She's left to carry the suitcase as Sam unholsters his own ICER. "Now let's get the hell out of here."

    He pops his head out, looking down the hallway for a very brief glance before pulling back into the doorway. And then, without preamble, Sam leans back out with his ICER aimed and fires off a few shots. "Junior, take point, we'll cover!"

    And yes, he means Cael. Who he's jokingly called Falcon Jr. enough times now that she probably knows what he means.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael can't help but let out a snort of amusement at what just unfolded. "No problem," she remarks, as they start for the door. She retrieves her ICER from the holster as she adds, "Fuck you, 'Senior.'" Despite her words, though - she's following the order, taking her own cautious glance out the door before she starts to lead the way towards their exit as a slow jog - trusting Sam and Sara to cover the reaar.
    "Fair warning, though, I think things are about to get more inter- ...esting." Just as Cael's voicing the thoughts, auditory alarms start to blare, and multiple doors can be heard locking, or slamming shut. They have an exit problem.
    In another room, the spirit of a teenaged girl has an acrylic case holding a very expensive looking looking object: an egg of light blue enamel, decorated in gold, and gems, on a golden stand, with a miniature painting of a man beside it - small enough to fit inside the egg, and similarly ornately carved. "Oopsy," she remarks, before fading out of view with the lost Royal Danish egg.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
<"Battering ram activate, do not wait for me, just get out. GL, make a door for the team."> Sara states, and with the team ready to move, she thickens the armor around herself, spreads out her wings and charges down the hall like a wild woman on a mission, screaming like a banshee. Technically, she has a mission, clear the hall.

Any of them who don't turn and run will either get thumped with the sword to knock them out, hit by the wings and knocked down, or just plain ran over. Witchblade on a protection mission can in fact look like a rampaging herd of animals.

Jane Foster has posed:
A very loud trill echoes noisily through the building. That's not the only beginnings of trouble, with the Eastern European gangsters hauling ass through the Freeport and the AI fighting back against the security measures soon enough rushing over her. Not for the first time would someone probably be forgiven for thinking that everything has gone wrong, so terribly and utterly wrong.

Run. That's truly it.

Well, running means <<Retreat, on Jemma. Straight out the front, we've got cover.>> Sounds are soft through the squall and clamour of an electronic storm. Doors are forced shut, the lockdown already rolling. This is why SHIELD has annual competency tests, though.