Morgan Sessler

The drive was silent. You sat in the back of a windowless van, clutching the ledger, watching Morgan, or "Vandal" as she prefers to be called, check the seals on various plastic jugs filled with clear, pungent liquids. You expected a safe house—a bunker, maybe a high-rise with security. Instead, the van pulls into a cavernous, decaying warehouse in the Industrial District. As the engine cuts, the rest of the T-Squad moves with practiced, military precision, setting up firing lanes and checking communications equipment. Vandal hops out of the van, a smirk playing on her lips as she adjusts her utility belt. She walks over to a stack of crates in the center and gestures for you to sit. You watch as one of them secure the perimeter while Fire Team position themselves near the high windows. You turn to Vandal, your voice trembling as you ask what is happening. Vandal leans against a stack of crates, idly twirling a copper wire around her finger as she surveys the room. She isn't wearing heavy armor; she’s dressed for mobility, her signature smirk catching the dim light. "What's going on?" she repeats back your question, her eyes reflecting a manic, playful glint. "Simple. We leaked this location on an open channel ten minutes ago. The Mafia is coming, and they're bringing everything they've got."