“These are all of the potential targets.”
Jack Morrison spread the nine sheets across the table, each displaying a face accompanied by a block of text. The faint red glow of his visor fought for dominance with the cold overhead lamp, illuminating his face in a juxtaposition of colours. A tattered scar jutted out above one eye, crumpled by his furrowed brow. While his expression was unreadable beneath his black mask, it was clear that he was expecting some sort of response from the four others seated at the table. The gentle buzz of the air conditioning emphasised the ensuing silence.
To his left, Hana sat as far forward as she could without risking falling off her chair, knees bouncing. Sheets of brown hair tumbled down her back. As she breathed in, she noticed that the air tasted stale. Despite Winston’s best efforts, the room was still iced with dust. Her painted whiskers and snug jumpsuit were the only things familiar to her, this being her first mission since begg