Amber listened intently to the reports as they filtered in from the other Blink teams who'd been sent into the Haze alongside them. With a host of different cover stories for their presence in the desolate part of the world they had tried, with varying degrees of success, to gain access to the local criminal underground.

The portable comm rig crackled and fizzed as the messages came through, even its specially augmented machinery struggling to cope with the highly charged atmosphere of the Haze. The very air around them was awash with static discharges, electromagnetic distortions and heavy with inert gases. The reinforced gear proved its worth, however, as piece by piece they were able to put together the reports from their comrades.

It was a mixed bag. Taggs had struck out, finding no inroads with the locals in the network of smelting hamlets that his squad had been assigned. Panther Squad under Bandle's command had marginally more success, but their local contact turned out to be excessively paranoid. It would be days before they could even approach the man again, let alone try and push him to organise meetings with buyers further up the chain.

Vanna Proctor, however, had seen much more success. Rigel Squad's attractive array of strictly contraband liqueurs, hallucinogenics and exotic meats had netted them a swift encounter with one of the fences for the leading narcotics distributor in the Haze. With that they were able to begin piecing together a small part of the criminal structure that worked its way through the district like ivy creepers.

What they didn't know yet was just what form the final structure took. Were there separate factions wrestling for control of different pieces of turf? Or did it all come together in some kind of clandestine pyramid with their quarry at the top?

With this new info, Darien quickly pivoted their strategy. She listened, half in awe and half terrified with how quickly his mind moved as he outlined his plans to integrate even deeper with the criminal organisations that infested the Haze. With two clear points of access he divvied up the forces into neat sections, keeping Vass's unit beyond detection range at their staging area and moving the unsuccessful groups to support the others. Vandel Squad joined Hammerhead at their survey station, while Panther Squad under Bandle were dispatched to support Vanna's efforts.

Regardless of what had transpired elsewhere, however, Hammerhead Squad still had a meeting to arrange. Barely six hours had passed before the new assignments had been carried out and Darien was planning their next move, outlining the plan for their meeting. Hammerhead's operatives were joined by Taggs and the members of Vandal Squad, huddled around the broad metal table in the middle of the survey station's primary ops room. All eyes and ears were fixed on Darien as he walked them through the coming confrontation.

"They'll need proof of two things," he told him, his eyes never leaving the holographic map display as he spoke. "First, that we've actually got the weapons. Second, that we've got the wherewithal to keep them."

"So more than just the two of us," Amber murmured.

He nodded. "Exactly. You and me, we're the contacts. They speak with us and no-one else. Hekket, Uther, you're on crate duty. You'll come in with us but you are only there to carry the gear and do as you're told."

"Aye, no' much change there then, eh?" Taggs interjected dryly, prompting a good natured rumble of laughter from the other operatives and a glare from Uther.

Darien smiled thinly and continued on. "Niamh and Idas, put on your toughest faces. You're going to be the muscle. Taggs, I'll need two of yours backing us up as well."

"I'm in."

"No, not you."

"Eh?" Taggs gave him a bemused look.

"I need you here," Darien explained. "If anything goes wrong I need someone with experience, who can keep a level, head calling the shots from here. Understand?"

Taggs looked more than a little disgruntled about being relegated to a supporting role in the operation, but Vandal's leader knew his position in the order of things. He nodded reluctantly and glanced at two of squad mates – heavy-set, black-haired girl and a gangly young man with a thick shadow of stubble around the lower half of his face. "Whikker, Isaac, y' up for it?"

"You know it, boss," the girl, Whikker, replied sharply, touching two fingers to her forehead in a lazy salute.

"Once we're in there, all of you keep your mouths shut," Darien continued, casting his eyes around the group. "They need to see us as the authority figures. Keeping your people in line is a measure of respect in this line of work. Just keep combat spacing – won't hurt to let them know you know how to handle yourselves – and keep your guns out so they can see them. The best way to prevent a fight is to show them you're ready to give them one."

*

They entered the bar, and Amber forced the veneer of calm onto her face, eyes flickering around the room to assess any potential threats.

She found plenty.

The normal clientele had evidently been removed for the time-being, allowing the local profiteers to stretch their elbows out. The same bar tender stood at his post, a look of understandable discomfort crumpling his features, but the stools in front of them now seated three individuals in the distinctive thick blast-coats of the Haze natives. She recognised the woman from their earlier confrontation, her ragged brown hair failing to conceal the scar that made her so distinctive, but the other two were newcomers.

As her gaze flashed around the others she saw very quickly that Darien's assessment of the situation had been spot on. Three more grizzled men and a woman with a broken nose were scattered at even points around the room, ugly, graceless firearms clutched in fire-scarred hands. Their eyes watched the operatives, fingers wrapped around triggers, ready to spring at a moments notice. And if a firefight broke out, she and Darien were right in the middle of the crossfire.

Unperturbed, Darien stepped forward and she stepped with him, hands rammed into her coat pockets, an expression of mild boredom papered over her true feelings of gut-gnawing apprehension. She took in a long slow breath through her nose, feeling the reassuring presence of the operatives behind them.

Bury the nerves.

"You're late," the woman grunted, rising languidly from her seat by the bar.

"You're early," Darien countered swiftly. "What's the matter, don't trust us?"

"I don't trust my own mother, kid."

"Then you and I have something in common." He smiled wryly, and Amber marvelled at how he slid into conversation with this criminal with effortless ease.

The woman smiled a grim smile, fingers drumming the grip of the pistol holstered at her hip. "Time to prove you're more than talk," she sneered, eyes flickering to the crate being carried by Hekket and Uther.

Amber glanced over her shoulder, putting on a sneer of her own. "Out in front; set it down. Gentle, too – wouldn't want to crater this place."

Silently the pair obeyed her, shifting past and placing the long, rectangular crate down between them and the criminal representatives. With a deft flick of his wrist Uther released the mag clamp holding the lid shut and shoved it open. Eyes widened around the room. The woman whistled appreciatively.

"Damn, girly," she murmured, and took a half step forward.

"You can look from there," Darien said breezily, at the same time sweeping back his jacket to reveal the Bocklor firearm that was thrust through his belt. "I trust you know a good score when you see one."

The enforcers in front of them bristled, straightening up and hefting weapons just a little higher.

"Your boys are skittish," Amber commented, looking them over disdainfully.

"You like the sound of your own voice don't you?" The woman shot her a glare. "Okay, I'll believe you picked up some military gear. So what's your price?"

"Not your concern."

"So what is our concern?"

"Can you move it?"

"I can give you a buyer."

"Alright then."

"For a price."

Darien rolled his eyes. "Do I look like an idiot to you? I know how this works. Put us in touch with buyer and your cut's fifteen percent."

"Fifteen?" she glanced around at her compatriots, as though confused. "Think you've been running the cities too long. Standard cut for an intermediary in the Haze is twenty-five."

"And I can breathe vacuum," Darien snorted. "What the hell do you take me for? You'll get fifteen."

"Or maybe we just bury you right here and take it all?" she hissed, and the rattle of firing bolts and primers sounded behind her.

Without so much as an instant's hesitation Darien took a step forward, his eyes blazing with cold anger. His expression hardened; hand curling shut around the grip of the Bocklor.

"Just try it," he said, his voice calm and measured. "I dare you. One person takes aim at me, and my people will cut your street scrapings to pieces before you have a chance to even dream of your extra ten percent."

Amber could feel her heart slamming in her chest, fear swelling up in her gut. After everything they'd done she didn't want it all to come to an end getting shot to pieces in a bar in the dead-end of nowhere. Her hand snapped down to her pistol, flicking the holster open, her jaw clamped tight as she watched. Darien's threat was far from an idle one. With their enhanced reflexes it was a safe bet that the Blink operatives behind them would be firing before their adversaries even had a chance to take aim.

But it still wasn't a bet she wanted to make.

The thugs scattered around the room exchanged looks, weapons starting to rise. Darien didn't even seem to notice them, his burning gaze locked onto the woman leading the negotiation.

"Ten percent," he repeated, voice hard as folded steel. "What do you think? Worth taking the chance?"

The woman's eyes narrowed, brow furrowing. Her gaze flickered to the operatives spread around the other side of the bar. Amber could almost hear the gears turning in the woman's brain as she weighed up her chances. Eventually, and to Amber's immense confusion, their counterpart's cragged face split into a smile.

"Shit, kid," the woman chuckled grimly, shaking her head in what appeared to be admiration, of all things. "You don't screw around do you?"

"I just want my fair cut."

"Don't we all?" A shrug; the smile broadened. "Alright, alright. Fifteen." She made a vague waving gesture and reluctantly her entourage lowered their weapons. Amber shot a look over her shoulder, telling the others to do the same. Barrels dropped all around them and she saw the barman wipe the beading sweat off his brow with a shuddering exhalation of relief.

The woman reached into her back pocket and pulled free a small, flat rectangle that glittered in the light – an info packet. With a careless motion she tossed it towards them and Amber reached out, deftly snatching it out of the air.

"Run that," she told them. "And follow the nav-points. Buyer's name is Hjaltar and he's moving on a tight schedule so don't be late. Otherwise he'll come looking. You don't poke your head up around here with that kind of gear and then get to slink off into the shadows like nothing happened."

Darien grinned. "Would I do a thing like that?" Then he motioned Hekket and Uther forward once more. "Lock it up, people. We've all got a big payday coming our way." To Amber's surprise, he actually winked at the woman opposite him before turning and striding from the room like it was the most natural thing in the world, the crate being lugged along in his wake.

Despite the efforts she'd put in so far to blend into this scene of smoke and mirrors, Amber couldn't bring herself to turn her back on the men and women on the other side of the bar. She backed away at an easy pace until she passed Whikker and Isaac at the entrance. Shoving the door open, she kept her eyes locked on the criminals as the others filtered past her, weapons disappearing beneath ragged coats as they slipped back into the world beyond the dim, quiet of the bar.

And once everyone was out, Amber sent the door thudding shut, holding the woman's stare until she was lost to sight.