The desert sun was oppressively hot.

It needed to be hotter.

Isaac stood at the door to his aluminum trailer and glared at the horizon. All around him, the Neveda desert stretched flat in an endless, dead wasteland. Against the tan of the baked soil, Isaac was a figure of stark black. Nearly every inch of him, from his heat-resistant boots to his basalt-fiber gloves to his custom, insulative hoodie to his long, wool overcoat was a dark, angry black broken only by lines of dark red along the mask covering his nose and mouth. The fabric practically sizzled under the sun, and it still wasn’t hot enough.

A dull roar growled across the barren dust. Isaac raised a hand to shield his eyes and was just able to make out the figure of a small jet in the simmering distance. He probably didn’t need the overcoat, if he was honest, but this was going to be a long ride. No sense in it being a cold one.

Isaac dropped his hand as the roar of the plane grew louder. No one flew out here. At least, not normally. But someone was willing to pay a lot of money to make some fire in the middle east, and Isaac was happy to take it. Not least of all because it would be in the desert instead of some snow-covered city. That had been a disaster.

The roar became deafening as the jet- apparently a modified harrier of some sort- slowed to a stop in midair and then dropped neatly to the ground in front of Isaac’s trailer, blasting sprays of dust in all directions. As the engines wound down to an idle a door on the side clicked open and folded down into a stairway. Isaac strode forward and climbed inside.

The difference in temperature was like a physical wall. Isaac wasn’t sure if his coat was actually steaming in the climate-controlled air or if it was just his imagination at the sudden change. He was glad he’d brought his coat; hell, he wished he’d brought two. He looked around for a way to adjust the temperature when he suddenly stopped. There was a girl in the cabin. A small, teenage, goth chick with matching black wings to complete the outfit. Isaac glowered. He’d been told he may be assigned a partner, but this was just stupid.

“Who the hell are you?” The words were a mixture of disinterest and contempt. Isaac didn’t do children.

Astrid sat in the front seat of the little jet with her arms crossed over her chest, watching the ground pass quickly beneath the aircraft. Her boots were on the dash of the front of the jet, and she was leaning back in her chair.

She was sullen, more so than usual. She had assumed that when she had been asked to go blow things up in the middle of the desert, that she would be doing it alone. Sure, she wasn't entirely knowledgable about explosives, and she was not made for the desert, but that did not mean that she, of all people, needed some nobody to accompany her.

The plane was on autopilot, so all she had to do was watch and wait. Then, once whoever it was that she was stopping for got on, she just had to enter the next coordinates, which was all handled by a handy app on her new smartphone. She had indeed been wrong about the internet. It was pretty great.

The landscape in front of her was quickly changing. The trees grew sparse, and were quickly replaced by sand and rocks. The desert. Wonderful. It was as terrible as she had first imagined.

With an impossibly adolescent grunt, she leaned forward and rifled through the purse at her feet. In it was her smartphone, some explosive devices, a book, and the largest bottle of sunscreen that she could find. She pulled it out and squirted a huge glob on the palm of her hand, then used it to cover every inch of her skin that was not already clothed in black fabric.

The New York sun was horrible, yes, but there was also a ton of light pollution, smog, and rain that made it not as horrible. Not to mention buildings that scattered the landscape and provided shade on one side.

The sun in the desert, however, was unforgiving. With skin as light as hers, Astrid knew that she would blister within minutes of standing in full light. So, she was taking every precaution available to her. Thick tights, a black dress with a high collar and long sleeves, long boots, a hat, and most importantly, she was reapplying thick layers of sunscreen every hour, and she wasn't even outside yet.

The aircraft slowed and made its descent, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Astrid scoffed to herself, wondering what lowlife could possibly live that far out in the desert.

“Who the hell are you?”

Astrid's mouth twisted in a look of extreme distain. The man was absolutely disgusting. He looked like he had never left his trailer, and he smelled even worse. He showed none of the power of Jabberwocky, none of the grace of October, and none of the surprising intellect of Muninn.  What could the ugly buffoon possibly have to offer her?

Not to mention that he didn't even know who she was. Her. The great Valkyrie of Ragnarok. Terror from the sky. How on earth could he possibly be that ignorant?

"I am Valkyrie," she proclaimed haughtily, "you should be the knowing that," she switched to muttering under her breath as she added, "dégénéré." Inbred.

Astrid picked up her phone and typed a code into the app, causing the plane to take off suddenly. She simply assumed that the man standing on the plane was the one she was supposed to be picking up. She didn't wait for him to sit down, or for the hangar door to close. She simply didn't care.

The plane lurched into the air, forcing Isaac to quickly shift his weight to keep balance before he could return to glowering at the ill-tempered child.

“Yeah, next time try learning how to talk before saying how great you are.” Isaac sneered. Normally he wouldn’t even care enough about a random stranger to respond, but this was a job. He either worked with people who were capable of tying their own shoes or by himself. After last year, he’d sworn he’d never let himself get conned into hauling a newbie kid around again.

“And I’ve got some ‘French’ for you, too: Go –“

“SURTR. WELCOME ABOARD,” Said a deep, heavily modulated voice behind him, cutting of a statement that was most certainly not French. Isaac turned to see a monitor with the image of a dark silhouette and the name “Loki” displayed beneath it. The comment had been addressed to Isaac: for some reason these people had chosen the completely unpronounceable “Surtr” as his codename.

“I SEE THAT YOU HAVE MET VALKYRIE. SHE WILL BE YOUR PARTNER FOR THIS MISSION.”

“Look,” said Isaac, pointing a finger at the screen, “if you expect me to babysit I want double. Now. Or I’m walking.”

“THIS ORGANIZATION DOES NOT TOLERATE INSURRECTION, SURTR. I SUGGEST YOU THINK VERY CAREFULLY BEFORE TAKING ACTION AGAINST AGREEMENTS MADE IN GOOD FAITH.” The last two words carried to the tone of “or I will skin you.” Isaac wondered if the screen could see him rolling his eyes.

“REGARDLESS, RAGNAROK DOES NOT RECRUIT THE WEAK. ALL OF OUR MEMBERS ARE FULLY CAPABLE OF THE JOBS ASSIGNED THEM. YOU, SURTR, WILL ONLY BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR THE WORK DETAILED IN YOUR INITIAL CONTRACT. STILL, ACTIONS OF COMRADERY WITHIN THE RAGNAROK FAMILY WILL NOT BE WITHOUT REWARD.”

Isaac cast a narrowed glance at the girl seated behind him. So it would be no cut in pay if she died, and a potential bonus if he felt like saving her. Fair enough.

“NOW IF THAT IS ALL SATISFACTORY, THERE IS BUSINESS TO ATTEND TO.”
Isaac stepped to the side so his new (sigh) partner could see the screen as it changed to a map of the Middle East.

“AS YOU MAY BE AWARE, RECENT ACTIONS OF SEVERAL ARAB NATIONS HAVE SHOWN UNACCEPTABLE HOSTILITY TOWARD MUTANT KIND. THIS CANNOT GO UNANSWERED. THE WEALTH AND POWER OF THESE NATIONS FLOWS FROM THEIR CONTROL OF THE OIL FIELDS. YOU WILL REMOVE THAT.” The screen zoomed in to show several dots on a map of central Saudi Arabia. “WE HAVE ARRANGED FOR A HOLE IN DEFENSE SURROUNDING A KEY JUNCTURE IN ONE OF THEIR PRIMARY PIPELINES. YOU WILL COMPLETELY AND IRREPARABLY DESTROY THE WELL AND CONTROL STATION. YOU WILL ALSO FIND A SUPPLY DROP OF GPS-ENABLED MINES WHICH YOU WILL INSERT INTO THE FLOW STREAM OF THE MAIN PIPELINE BEFORE DESTROYING IT, TOO, COMPLETELY. VALKYRIE WILL BE IN CHARGE OF REMOVING ANY PERSONNEL THREATS PRESENT. SURTR WILL BE IN CHARGE OF PROPERTY DESTRUCTION. THE JET WILL BE WAITING FOR YOU WHEN YOU ARE DONE.”

Isaac shrugged. This wasn’t too much more than what had been in his contract and it seemed simple enough.

“FLIGHT TIME TO TARGET IS 13.5 HOURS. THERE ARE FULL AMENITIES IN THE FORWARD CABIN ALONG WITH A SNACK BAR TAILORED TO YOUR PERSONAL TASTES, A SELECTION OF MOVIES ON YOUR INDIVIDUAL MONITORS, AND EXTRA BLANKETS IN THE REAR.”

There was a protracted pause.

“TRY TO GET ALONG.”

Astrid rolled her eyes at the sorry excuse for a man that bathed himself in an excess of fabric. She was well aware that her English was far from perfect - she had been told many times - but it didn't really bother her. Besides, she had done quite well for herself over her short time in America. She had even learned everything all by herself, which was much more than most people could say. Most people including the pathetic hick whose list of talents was probably about as long as her pinky finger. He didn't look like he got a lot of socialization.

She smirked as he was cut off by the heavily altered voice of Loki. Valkyrie made no movement, having already heard spiel about their mission on the way over. There hadn't been a lot else to do, after all.

The snack bar and individualized monitors were new, though. She hadn't been made aware of either amenity when the voice had addressed her specifically. Maybe it simply thought her too mature for trifles like that. 

Astrid snorted at the last line. Try to get along. Cold, black eyes trailed back up and down the gorilla that had so gracelessly traipsed onto the plane a few moments prior. He really was a filthy caveman with no discernible skills, and she wanted nothing to do with him. If she had been simply given some explosive devices, she could have performed the mission by herself, but for some reason unbeknownst to her, they had felt the need to hire the buffoon standing near her.

The intercom clicked off, and Astrid slowly planted her feet on the ground, her hands perched on her knees, ready to stand up. She paused for a second, smiled to herself, and then turned to "Surtr", or whatever the idiot's stupid name was. "Be quiet or I making you quiet, yes?" Her pearly whites were flashing at him devilishly as she turned away. Hopefully he would get the picture, or it would be a very long trip for both of them.

She was hungry. Despite having recently come into a large sum of money, she still found herself to be without food more often than not. However, that was mostly her own doing, since she simply didn't have to time to acquire food all the time. Stupid weak bodies, needing food all the time. 

The plane was mostly without turbulence, so it wasn't too difficult for her to walk across to the refreshments in her platform heels. Once there, she peeked her head inside the fridge and took a good look. The contents included, but were not limited to: raw beef, carrot sticks, a cheese tray, a plate of hamburgers, soda, and blueberries. Next to the fridge, there was a kettle, a coffee machine, and a variety of candy.

Astrid frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, disappointed that wine hadn't been included in the assortment of snacks. It made sense, though, since they were going to be performing a high-profile mission in just over twelve hours. What didn't make sense was the raw beef. 

They must have forgotten to include a grill or something. There was no way that they would just give them raw beef, was there? They weren't complete savages. She huffed at their doltishness and grabbed the platter. She stepped over to the little trash shoot and dumped the entire thing into the trash.

Once she was rid of the disgusting mistake, Astrid grabbed a jar of liquorice and a jar of M&Ms before walking back to her bag. She fished out a novel from it, and took a seat in the middle of the plane where she could stretch out her wings. She sat cross legged on the ground and set the jars down around her for easy access before she cracked open her novel to where she had left off. 

Food. That was good. Thirteen hours was far too long to go without eating. Hopefully they’d packed enough. Blankets was even better. Assuming he wasn’t going to be able to set the air in here to anything other than “Arctic,” he was going to need them.

Isaac turned and stalked to the back of the plane, opening a cabinet he assumed held the extra layering. It did. The top shelves had an assortment of light, cotton fabrics –no good- but beneath them were several thick quilts and heavy-duty survival blankets. Isaac grabbed the whole stack up in a lumpy pile and turned around just in time to see the emo girl dump a plate of steaks into a hole in the wall.

A few moments passed as Isaac processed what he just saw. The girl had just dumped a pile of raw meat into some kind of slot. The slot was the trash. The meat came from the fridge. Food in the fridge had been provided to their personal tastes. He liked raw meat. Those steaks… THOSE WERE HIS STEAKS! And the b**** had just dumped them in the trash!

“THE F***!?!” Isaac shouted, the pile of blankets falling to the floor. He leapt toward the front of the plane, shoving one of the little imp’s wings out of the way. “YOU **** THOSE WERE MINE!!!”

Isaac slid/collided to a stop in front of the forward compartments, clawing at the wall where he’d seen the meat disappear and cursing/praying that the trash wasn’t immediately dumped while in the air.

There was the slot opening… Isaac peered inside –too dark to see. He reached an arm in and started fishing around. There was…. paper? Something soft? Isaac breathed a short sigh of relief and clutched at the object. There, it was -nope… maybe a little to the left?…. now if he could just….

F*** it, this was taking too long! Isaac drew his arm from the trash slot and grabbed the edges of the panel, pulling on it in swift, frantic jerks. It gave a little, but not enough. And not fast enough. Isaac swore through his teeth and stepped back. He was NOT going to suffer through this trip without food.

His coat hit the floor followed by his gloves. Isaac bent and wrenched at the panel again, this time with hands glowing a dark, sullen red. The plastic writhed beneath his grip, curling in foul-smelling contortions and falling away to reveal a metal bin. Isaac tore the container from its hole and dumped its contents on the ground. The fire alarm started to shriek at the smoke from the plastic, but he ignored it.

There were his steaks, lying among wadded up papers and other debris. He picked them up as delicately as he could, trying not to heat them too much, but their juices still sizzled at his touch. He separated the top one from the stack, then opened the fridge and tossed the rest in unceremoniously. Turning a glare toward the stupid girl, he pulled down his mask and tore a bite from the steak in his hand, his teeth searing through it like steaming knives.

He strode forward, chewing slowly, until he was directly under the frantically beeping fire alarm and punched it with his free hand. It gave one last, warbling beep before melting into the cabin ceiling. Isaac then turned, gathered his discarded clothes, and returned to the seat opposite the stupid little b****, continuing his glare and taking another bite of the steak.

If it wasn’t for the fact they were supposed to be working together on a mission, he’d seriously consider grilling those stupid wings himself.

She had been just on the cusp of a peaceful moment before the man began to yell expletives at her. Astrid cocked her head at him and gave him a withering glare. What was his problem.

A hissing noise escaped her lips as her wings were rudely pushed out of the way of the lumbering other that occupied the too-small jet. She watched as he stuck his arm down the same shoot that she had dumped the mistake into with an exasperated expression. Her feelings were only intensified as he burned his way to the meat at the bottom of the shoot.

The fire alarm sounded with an angry, synthetic beep. Astrid hadn’t even been aware that planes had fire alarms. Her black eyes shot up towards it and narrowed at the thing making the noise, as if that would do anything to solve the problem.

When she looked back at the man, he was eating the raw meat. Eating it. She made a loud ”ew” noise and watched on in disgust as his teeth moved through it like nothing.

She fell silent again when the man destroyed the alarm. At least he was good for something, it seemed. It still didn’t change her opinion on him, though. She gave him one last disgusted, teenage look and then turned to her candy jars, which had been knocked over in the commotion.

After sweeping as much of the two kinds of candy as she could into their respective holders, she turned back to her book, trying to find her rhythm once again. She muttered something about diseases from uncooked food in French under her breath as she turned the page.

It was indeed going to be a long flight.

((OOC: Feel free to timeskip if you’d like to move the flight along a bit.))

A soft but persistent bell tone filled the cabin of the jet, rousing Isaac from his nap beneath several layers of survival blankets. He’d finished the last of the steaks an several hours ago and, given the ****-poor nature of his company, there was nothing left to do but shield himself against the cold and try not to be conscious for the rest of the flight. He emerged from his cocoon of barely-tolerable lukewarm just in time to miss the first words of a genial, computerized voice.

“…oach. Please prepare to disembark.”

Isaac looked at the screen on the wall. It showed a little graphic of the plane a short distance to the northeast of a large red dot and a line he assumed to be the pipeline. There was also a small “x” near the plane labeled “Supply Drop” and a clock at the bottom which said “Local Time: 2:33 PM.” Good. At least it would be warm outside. Daytime temperature in the desert was tolerable, but nights could get frustratingly cold.

Pushing his way out of the blankets, Isaac stumbled to his feet as the plane slowed and started to descend. Getting his balance, he shoved past the goth girl and positioned himself directly in front of the door, hunching slightly under the jet’s curved ceiling. He didn’t want to spend a second more in this flying freezer than he had to.

The jet hit the ground with a light jostle and Isaac practically pushed the door open. A scorching wind entered the cabin and he breathed it in with relish before leaping from the plane. He hit one stride on the partially extended stairs before pushing off again and landing with both boots in the sunbaked dust. Even beneath his clothes he could feel the warmth of the desert. Without really thinking, he pulled down his hood and mask and looked up at the sky, spending a few moments to just soak in the heat.

That done, it was time to get down to business. Isaac looked around at where they had landed. It seemed to be some kind of landing space of packed dirt in the midst of the dunes that had either fallen out of use or was used very rarely; nothing but a small aluminum shack and no sign of people. Most of the horizon was nothing but sand dunes, broken only by a mass of glittering steel pipes about a mile distant.

That must be the well. Now there was something about a supply drop….

Isaac narrowed his eyes and scanned the dunes in front of the oil well.

There! Just beyond the edge of the packed landing area, half covered in sand was a large, tan crate. Isaac opened the front of his coat to the desert wind and walked toward it.

Let’s get this show on the road.

She had taken a nap, finished her book, eaten all the M&Ms (but not the licorice), picked at most of the other food in the fridge, done some yoga, and finally, watched mindless reality television on one of the monitors. Almost fourteen hours was a long time to be cooped up on a plane.

Every once and awhile, she shot a glance at her ‘partner’. He slept for almost the entire ride, which was fine by her. She did not want to talk to him. For a brief minute or two, she entertained the idea of drawing on his face while he slept, but quickly decided against it. She liked her skin unmelted.

A computerized voice drew Astrid’s attention from Dance Moms, making her shift from her relaxed position in order to prep for landing. She took out her bottle of sunscreen and slathered on another layer in preparation for meeting the intense sun. Then, she took out anything she didn’t need for the mission from her bag, and slung it over her shoulder, so the strap would fall between her wings.

The screen on the wall gave them the location of their first target: the supply box. It wasn’t all the far away from them, which was rather nice. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to spend too much time out in the horrible sun.

She was pushed aside by the barbarian as he readied himself to exit the plane. Astrid hissed under her breath, but let him go. She wasn’t in a rush to get outside.

After watching the man stand in a strange position for a few seconds, she stepped off of the plane. The hangar door closed behind her, and she immediately regretted her actions. It was unbearably hot. Even hotter than she had expected. In the distance, where a tan crate could be seen under a mass of sand, there were even heat lines coming off of the ground. It was like a goddamn cartoon.

Astrid breathed in and out angrily, not at all impressed by the location. She didn’t get long to wallow, though, as Surtr began to walk in the direction of the supply crate. Astrid let her head fall back as she groaned before beating her wings behind her to lift off the ground. No way in hell was she walking.

She easily passed her partner and kept going, unsure of where exactly he was in relation to her. She could care less whether or not he was able to keep up, so she simply didn’t look. Within a few minutes, she had reached the crate.

Astrid landed, grumbling under her breath about the sand and heat, and then looked the thing over. The girl pursed her lips, quickly realizing that she hadn’t done a good job of committing the plan to memory. What exactly were they supposed to do with it?

Rather than trying anything, she dug around in her bag and pulled out a can of dark grey spray paint. Under the guise of teamwork, and waiting, or whatever, she painted the Ragnarok symbol on the crate. It would be one of many of the same image painted over the area when they were done.

It'd been an unfortunate past few months.

The whole Utopia thing had caused an unexpected influx of new customers. People were worried about so many things, and when it came to the rich, hitmen were often the go-to solution. Of course, it wasn't the "increased business" that Kirsi hadn't liked. She would never have a problem with more money. No, it was the fact that she was getting dumped in the most absurd locales to carry out said business.

For the last two weeks, she hadn't set foot outside the desert, and that was horrible. She had never hated sand so much before, and at this point, she was pretty sure even beaches were ruined for her. And just as she'd gotten excited about getting to go to the lovely not-desert city of Ibiza for her next job, she got a call telling her that her employers had gotten an offer worth double the Ibiza one to stay in the desert. And since she was there already, well, might as well hand that job off to her.

From where she was crouched behind a sand dune, the gleaming pipes of the oil field stretched out behind her, she huffed and shook more sand out of her sleeve.

She hadn't really been to the proper desert before, so she'd come a little underprepared. Thankfully, one of her last missions had landed her with a partner who did know what to do, and that guy had been nice enough to help outfit her with some more desert-appropriate clothing. He'd inexplicably managed to obtain desert camouflage in her size, and with a pale, thin cloth wrapped around her face and hair, leaving only her eyes uncovered, she didn't stand out quite as much as she otherwise would've. She had a backpack with more essential supplies, and she took out a bottle and had a careful sip as she scrounged for what she was actually looking for - a worn photograph of her target. She wasn't entirely sure who he was, but it wouldn't matter if she was shooting him from afar.

As she packed up the supplies she'd laid out so she could take inventory, a plane landed, really not that far away. If she hadn't had earbuds in, loudly playing music (because what else was there to do when alone in the desert), she probably would've heard it. As it was, she didn't. So she didn't notice the plane, and definitely not the two figures stepping out of it.

And when she swung the pack over her shoulder and stepped out from behind the dune, scanning the expanse of machinery before her with a scope, she didn't realize that she was perfectly visible to the two figures if they tried hard enough to look.

Isaac’s glare followed Valkyrie as she swept over and past him. Huh. Guess those stupid wings actually worked. Not that they would be much help in the mission, but at least they weren’t completely useless. Hopefully that would extend to the rest of her.

He started to continue after the girl until the roar of engines stopped him. Isaac turned around in time to see the jet transition from a vertical takeoff to forward flight, leaving a spray of sand as it passed over the nearby dunes.

How nice of them. Isaac scowled. No way but forward, then.

He caught up with his emo partner at the supply crate to see that she had done…. nothing. She hadn’t even opened it. In fact, most of it was still buried in the sand. It appeared that the only thing this girl had even thought to do was spray paint a nice big “R” symbol on the lid, which would be helpful to any hostiles who may be interested in locating their stash of mission criticals.

With a glare of daggers at Valkyrie, Isaac grabbed the sides of the crate and pulled it from the sand. Turned out the thing was locked, but that was no big deal and he quickly melted the bolt off. He went ahead and pocketed his gloves in his coat; no need to keep them on now, anyway. With the lock gone, Isaac pulled the lid open to reveal a pale gray cylinder about the size of a football. There was a clear hatch on one side with an arming switch and two handles at either end.

Isaac looked up at the girl. “So am I going to have to carry this thing or are you going…” His eyes narrowed as he looked the small child up and down. Not only was she little, she was brittlely thin. No muscle mass. Weak. “Nevermind. I’ll do it myself.”

Isaac pulled the bomb from it container then looked back at the empty crate. It wasn’t like he was going to be able to keep his coat and clothes on for the mission, and with the plane gone he needed somewhere to put them. He shrugged. Good of place as any. He set the mine on the ground and started pulling off his clothes and stuffing them in the crate.

Astrid glanced at the explosive device exposed when her partner opened the container and simply shrugged. She had never seen anything like it before, and there was no way that she would be able to carry it, and attempting to do so would stop her from flying. He could handle it. Besides, there was nothing in her job description of 'kill people' that said anything about carrying large objects.

A smirk returned to her face when the man quickly got the idea that she wasn’t going to be any help. It was going to be funny to watch him try to-

<EW WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING??> Astrid shrieked in French suddenly as the man began to strip. Surprise had caused her to switch languages, and she made no move to fix her mistake. There was also nothing in her job description depicting having to look at naked old men. She did not sign up for that.

Stark white hands covered pure black eyes as she made continuous ‘ew’ noises at what the man was doing. Her hands did not do the trick well enough. Whenever she blinked an eyelid open to see if he was done, she was accosted by more images of the dirty old man. Images that would be seared into her mind for the rest of her existence.

Astrid turned away from the whole scene; the crate, the Ragnarok symbol, and most importantly, the man. There was no amount of therapy that would ever be able to make her whole again, but she had to do everything in her power not to see anything like that ever again. Her eyes scanned the barren desert for anything - anything else that she could focus on her.

By the grace of God, there was something a little ways off. Someone walking. Only that someone didn’t look normal. They were far too small. What was a child doing all alone in the middle of a Saudi Arabian desert? A hint of curiosity and an overwhelming desire to run away and never look back made her move forwards to investigate.

”Go doing own job,” she hissed back to Surtr. The last thing she wanted was the naked old dude to follow her.

She took off flying, able to travel much faster that way than by walking. In just a minute or two, she had landed a few feet from the tiny person.

It took exactly three steps for Kirsi to realize that she had absolutely no idea where she was going.

She stopped right in her tracks then, staring out at the expanse of machinery in front of her. Yes, she had a photo of her target, but there was a difference between being given a photo and sent to the city and being given a photo and dumped in the middle of the desert. Frowning, she took out her earbuds and stuffed them and the music player into her backpack, because she was going to get serious now.

She still had her scope in her hand, so she scanned the pipeline below her with it. There was literally nothing. All she could see was metal, and for some reason, not a single person. Either she was looking in completely the wrong place, or this was their break or something. No matter what was happening, that didn't bode well for her mission. At this point, she might have to actually reveal herself, but that wouldn't be the best option while dressed in desert camouflage -

There was a whoosh of sand behind her, and almost instantly, Kirsi had whipped around with a high-caliber sniper bullet in her palm, very clearly visible to whoever it was had just arrived.

How it was that somebody had managed to sneak up on her like that was immediately clear. Kirsi would've noticed footsteps, or someone walking that close to her, but of course she wouldn't have thought to look up for some winged, pasty girl. And when Kirsi called someone pasty, she really meant it, considering she had the skin tone of fresh printer paper.

"Who are you?" Kirsi said immediately, getting straight to the point. She wanted out of the desert as soon as possible, so the sooner she could deal with this problem, the sooner she could finish the job and actually get out. And this time, she wasn't telling anyone she'd finished the job until she was safely in Monaco or something. "And why are you here?" She added that part almost as an afterthought, after realizing that "who are you" really wasn't going to get her the most informative answer. They might actually get somewhere with that second question.

Of course the girl was shrieking. It had been a full 10 seconds since she had last been an annoying ****, so she was long overdue. Isaac looked up from tossing his shirt in the crate to see her babbling nonsense and covering her eyes. Isaac rolled his in response. “Oh, get over it,” he spat and went back to unbuttoning his pants. He couldn’t exactly melt through steel pipes if his clothes were in the way, and years of that kind of necessity had made him very indifferent toward being seen naked. It was just how things were and everyone else just needed to get their act together.

He ignored the girl as he removed the rest of his clothes and was just dumping his boxers into the box when she finally said something coherent.

>>”Go doing own job,” she said and flapped into the air.

“Yeah, go make yourself useful!” Isaac shouted after her, then added a grumbled “…if you can.” The girl hadn’t even flown off in the direction of the oil well. Of course she hadn’t. At least it wasn’t his concern if she killed herself.

Isaac slammed the crate shut and shoved it back into the edge of the dune, scooping some of the sand over the top to cover the spray-painted symbol. He had the bomb, but he wanted to get his clothes back after this was done. Best they stayed hidden.

Grabbing the mine, he climbed to the top of the sand dune bordering the landing area. The air on his bare skin was cold, but not torturously so.

Perks of taking a job in the desert.

The metal pipes of the oil well gleamed in the near distance. Not too far. Large, but not impossible to bring down, especially since they were filled with flammable liquid. And, of course, it looked like he was going to have to do it all himself. At least he was getting paid well. Isaac tucked the bomb in his arm like a football and took off at a light run across the sand.

Astrid blinked quickly as she was greeted by the little thing, that she could no safely identify as a female child. There was a bullet in the palm of her hand that she definitely wasn't hiding. There was nothing especially threatening about holding a bullet, but there was something about how she held it that gave Astrid the impression that there was something important about it.

Her tone was interesting, too. It was so harsh, so intense, for something so small. It almost seemed familiar...

Astrid's black eyes widened. She did know who the girl was. She knew lots about her, in fact. She had spent a long time reading through the files that Ragnarok had compiled about her.

For most files, Astrid simply skimmed or skipped over them entirely, but when she had come across Renegade's file, she spent a good while digging into the information. Criminals intrigued her. Criminals years younger than her that were wanted by Interpol made her squirm in her seat. How did she get that far ahead? What was she doing better than Astrid?

In a second, she formed a plan. She was going to be nice to the girl (or whatever the Ragnarok member equivalent was), and get information from her. She would see what she needed to do in order to get ahead like Huginn was.

Her lips curled into a smile, and she considered the two questions that the girl had asked her. "I am Valkyrie of Ragnarok. I am being here of official Ragnarok things. You are Huginn, yes?" That sounded good. Her grammar was getting really excellent. 

She whipped her head around to see where her "partner" had run off to. He looked to be doing his own thing, and she didn't really care what happened to him, so she figured that she had a while to do whatever she wanted before she actually had to do her job.

The newcomer's eyes widened. It was kind of disconcerting to watch, considering they were pitch black - really, it was more like watching a bug than an actual person. An especially pasty bug, that was.

"I am Valkyrie of Ragnarok," she said. That sounded legit, so Kirsi lowered her arm to her side. She took a moment to think about the name - if the girl was Ragnarok, there was a pretty good chance Kirsi would've at least heard of her in passing.

...nope. She had no idea who Valkyrie was. Maybe the winged mutant would elaborate?

"I am being here of official Ragnarok things. You are Huginn, yes?" The grammar was... bad, but as someone who also learned English as a second language, Kirsi sympathized.

"I am," she said slowly, still trying to figure out who exactly Valkyrie was - until the thought dawned on her that perhaps she wouldn't. Kirsi's eyes narrowed. "I was also under the impression that I was the only one on this job. I was certainly never informed about a Valkyrie, with whom I have never dealt with during all my time at Ragnarok." Her grammar was flawless - a petty intimidation tactic, but one that she'd seen work nonetheless.

Kirsi followed Valkyrie's line of sight as the girl whipped around, and immediately noted the figure running across the sand. As Valkyrie's attention was diverted, Kirsi brought the scope up to her eye to see... a naked man with something that only too much experience told her was a bomb, since she put the scope away rather quickly and tried very hard to not get more than a brief glance.

"Your partner is a pervert," Kirsi said, deadpan. The naked man was not a threat for now. As long as that bomb wasn't being brought in her direction, she didn't care. But the supposed Ragnarok member in front of her - that was an issue to resolve as soon as possible. Kirsi aimed the bullet back at Valkyrie's head. "If you are Ragnarok, you will be able to tell me this." Uh. Kirsi hadn't thought that far ahead. She desperately racked her mind for a question that a Ragnarok member, and only a Ragnarok member, would know the answer to.

It took her a moment, but when she thought of the question that fit the bill perfectly, it gave her no small sense of satisfaction. "When," Kirsi asked, slowly, calculatingly, and completely serious, "is the mandatory, annual faction-wide picnic?"

It was a brilliant question. No one outside of Ragnarok would ever bother to interrogate a Ragnarok member for that information, but every Ragnarok member would know, considering Cail sent them emails literally every month asking what they would bring. It was quite literally November, a good month after the last picnic on October 17th, and a solid eleven months until the next one, but Kirsi had still just gotten an email. There was no way Valkyrie, if she were actually Ragnarok, wouldn't know the date.