The meet-up and flight to the UF was uneventful. Rock, Ace, Jam, Caz, and Sheffer touched down in Empire City and hit the ground running with a plain, white rental van. However, there was a stop before their first destination.

Rock had urged Ace or Caz (whoever between the two claimed to be the better driver) to do the driving under the pretense that he was too busy, and still had some calls to make. The purpose may well have been ostensible; he didn't seem to do much of anything once he got settled into the bucket seat behind the driver, other than give directions as needed, and watch the giant forest of concrete, glass, and steel roll by his window.

Traffic was pretty detestable as soon as they got off the raised highway and down in the shaded urban valley of the city streets, but eventually, they arrived at the first stop: An unmarked loading bay accessible via alley. The alley dead-ended in what was sort of like a paved clearing between buildings. The pavement was potted and filled with puddles. Brick walls pressed in, tall on every side. Weathered shipping bay doors looked as old as the dirt itself, but like they had seen recent use anyway. The only really notable thing in the area was a single unmarked delivery van with dark-tinted windows. An orangish, wiry-looking feline dude of some indeterminate species stood tensely near the rear wheelwell, glasses on his nose, and arms crossed over a bullet-resistant vest. He was clad all in grey and black tactical gear, and its slightly ill-fitting cut made it obvious that he was actually a lot smaller without the gratuitous layers of body armor.

The white primate disembarked quickly and plodded toward him.

"Youuu! Youuu're late," greeted the stranger (without much greeting to be spoken of, just hissed words and a pointing finger). "Three hours late, and it's gettin' late, I need to get back, that is to say I need to not be here, now, not with, with the- the GUN beetles flyin' everydangwhere, and—"

"Nice seein' you too, Gary!" replied Rock brightly, being completely falsely cordial with a big handshake and (potentially unwanted) slap on the arm and shoulder interrupting him utterly.

"Gary?" echoed the spastic cat with a frown, wiping his glove off on his pants and straightening his glasses from the jolt he'd been given. He chased the words out with more talk, all of it fast enough to make one think the world was ending soon. "Don't you call me that, don't call me anything, not here, not today—this town isn't safe—you know I hate these field jobs, Lochert, yooouuu $#*@!%*$*@%in' laid-back sonuvab—"

"Hey, y'know, we're kinda in a hurry," replied Rock. "Can we get this over, or do you wanna—"

"You shut up!" barked Garand in a cracking voice, slapping a nearby lever, and dropping the rear door of the truck down with a raucous, violent bang. "Don't you- don't you even start, ffffff I got your *$@# right here, lucky I don't shove it up your JUST get it and go, alright?!"

"Thanks, bro," said the primate insincerely, grabbing the cat's hand and starting to shove a bill in it. "Here, you deserve a tip, waitin' so—"

"DON'T YOU. NO," he shouted like someone just poured acid on his hand, throwing the dollar bill down and jumping away with a mighty flailing and stomping hatdance of rage. "YouknowIdon'ttouchpapermoney you ass," stomp, "frrrrriggin' ass germ toilet %#$*" stomp "filth %$#*in' titmouse %#%@monger holebunch" stomp ...

Rock, looking too pleased with himself for the common good, motioned the others past Garand, and inside the truck full of equipment.


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"A'right," Ace said with some relief, his feet already half out the car door. "That's our stop. Sure you don't wanna tag along?"

"Nnyyeeuuhh," the driver replied carefully. "I have a feeling all that important government-speak might be lost on me. Besides that," she said with a mighty, spine-cracking stretch. "I'm very pooped. And now that we're out of Westside, I can take a nap out here without fear of retribution."

"...Aaalright. Have fun."

"Thank you. Y'all enjoy yerselves, now."

And with that, ol' alley cat shut the door, left his gal behind, and plopped his boots on the old style pavement beneath him. As luck would have it, he caught up with Rock just in time to see the fruits of his trolling, and a... dollar bill on the ground.

"..."

And so, with both his hand, and a crumpled wad of petty change stuffed into his pocket, Ace followed their simian shepherd.

Garand stared at the girl.

"... Yes, I am," he finally answered, then continued to glare at her like she was the largest female dog to ever walk the earth.

For the others who continued inside, they'd find that the interior was indeed the answer to Sheff's question.

Wall-to-wall weapon racks, munitions, and storage containers of all sorts sat under the bright, white, lab-like glare of fluorescent bars. There was a single long table along one wall, a desk with a computer at it, a mini-refrigerator, microwave, a fold-down cot, and a small door to what was presumably a restroom (albeit definitely no larger than the kind that would be on an aircraft). Most of the dangerous stuff was secure behind locked metal grates, however. The goods intended for them were neatly placed along the table.

... And, it wasn't that much. For all the amazing goodies on the walls, the stuff they were being given was pretty measly. There were three navy-blue military uniforms, neatly folded; three black tactical vests, with holsters; one holster by itself; three pairs of black combat boots and gloves; and the only guns to be mentioned were four handguns: three of them very standard-looking semi-automatic fare, and the fourth a small, boxy, sturdy-looking pistol with unusual lines.

Rock pulled his duffel strap off over his head and set it on the table beside the other stuff.

"Bear with me on this," he requested levelly, mostly to Sheffer. "We're gonna be barging in on one of the highest security-level facilities GUN has left." (After losing Prison Island and the one in Central City went unsaid, but implied.) "And, we're doin' it on the authority of a friend a'mine whose reputation may be at stake depending on how it goes, so we gotta at least look the part. Four hoodlums in T-shirts orrr no shirts, an' blue jeans, an' dukes won't project the, auh, air of professionalism we'll need to be taken seriously."

He began unzipping his bag, which already had a uniform of his own folded inside. Save for the gun and holster, it appeared he already had what he needed.

Rock pulled a black T-shirt over his head then dug a couple of pieces of blue and red fabric out of his bag. "Yeah, nah, you got the right idea" he reassured Sheffer. "Shouldn't have to even touch it..."

He didn't sound as confident as he might have liked to.

Meanwhile, Garand, who had moved on without any further words for the heartless little girl, took pause to answer Ace's question as he walked in behind the cat.

"It's an ugly paperweight shaped like a gun."

He huffed a snort out his nose, and gave a real answer (though still laden with disdain). "Capsule Trooper energy pistol. Completely useless. Got no friggin' power supply on its own. You people can buy all the useless crap you like! But, seriously, c'mon... hurry up, alright? I really wanna get outta here. This town stinks."

The primate rolled his eyes and sighed a laugh. He owed Ace enough to let him indulge; that, plus, he was going to give the guy a cut of the funds after it was all over with, anyway, so he'd just dock it from his pay.

(Seriously. Ace was footin' the bill for those things and he didn't even know it.)

Soon enough, the primate was ready to go. All their gear indeed matched in color, although Rock's older, slightly worn uniform was of a different cut, with a red stripe up either side of the pantlegs, and a subtly-patterned synthetic sheen on the odd fabric. The coat he put on matched it. Notably, his sleeves and pantlegs seemed to connect directly to his metal glove cuffs and bootshafts, clipping securely into place. And, whereas the others had been assigned a bullet-resistant vest, he forwent one, for whatever reason.

Once he got everything neatly zipped, snapped, and buttoned, clasped his belt around the waist of his coat, and strapped on his shoulder rig holster on over it all, he actually looked... quite professional, but unusual. No conventional combat uniform would have red on it, but, then again, it wasn't intended for earthbound use, either.

"Alright," he muttered, sounding a little pained just by dressing himself. It wasn't a good sign, but, he'd... been through a lot, just the previous night, too. (His cheek still had one of those big adhesive bandages on it, and one of his eyes was still ringed in purple.) "Let's get movin'."


***

Sometime later, once everybody got ready and piled into the van, they arrived at a cold, grey suspension bridge. On the other side was an islet with a military-industrial facility of some sort, impressively large, and consuming the entire small landmass, but still nothing on the order of Prison Island.

A guard booth checked their credentials before giving them clearance to cross. After a several minute drive, near a turn-around area at the end of the bridge, a sturdy metal gate topped with spooling spirals of razorwire buzzed loudly then slid open for their vehicle. A parking area just beyond, near the entrance to what seemed to be the main structure, was their final destination by van.

Guard towers loomed darkly against the rich orange sky. Human soldiers with rifles stood at the ready above, at the front doors of the broad, squatty grey building, and all around, while noisy diesel trucks came and went in the background.

The group looked reasonably formidable in their navy-colored fatigues, and their black vests, boots, gloves, holsters... ... and Ace's pink shooting glasses... But even with their collectively immense physical power, there was still a distinct lack of firepower at their disposal, and an unnerving need to look upward at almost everything and everyone.

"Anybody see Rouge?" asked the white-headed member of the party as he approached the chrome-lined glass doors.