Skimming Coachella

Despite a botched jailbreak mission, where Mercury see's the death of their entire squad, they find themselves on the lam with the extraction target, Asmund Pudlat: an infamous dealer in the illicit, and a crucial part in finding the weapons needed for the liberation effort. They managed to get rid of the pursuing mercenaries, for now. In the chaos of the situation, Hermes was lost, cutting off communication with central command. If they had a moment to think, part of them might have been somewhat relieved they didn't have to access that memory again through the debriefing. Possibilities of escape, and probabilities of success flood through their core, when a shoulder tap is processed.

"Hey, listen, that was completely insane, and you're obvously a total bad ass, but you need to cool those jets. I don't need you burning out on me before I've had my first cup of coffee as a newly free man!"

He was probably right, but this wasn't just some close call. This was a very big, very public screw up, and sure they bought them some time to breath, but they didn't buy them time to hesitate. Marla didn't hesit...

"...ou're a class act as always, babe. See you soon.beepboop...Got us a ride...What? Why are you looking at me like that? Listen, just cause I can't throw a dude 10ft in the air, doesn't mean I'm useless."

It's been 3 weeks since they arrived at the safe house; a rundown rehearsal space, owned by an "acquaintance" of Asmund. In their forced isolation, Mercury found the time for introspection, a new hobby, and a unique oportunity to weave some vibrations into gold.