Answer the question; but question the answer.

Most days, the inbox of ask-the-question.net is full of guttural nonsense from people who have seen the ads and thought it wise to send pestering spam mail. Their questions ranged, on average, from ‘Can you help me find my car keys,’ to ‘What is the meaning of life,’ to ‘What is the airborne velocity of an unladen swallow.’

To make matters worse, they never specified ‘African’ or ‘European.’

But earlier today, she had gotten quite the interesting message. One she’s been reading over and over again in her head as she sought out the appropriate address. ‘I can’t prove anything, but I know these people were involved with the death of a beautiful young woman. She was the sweetest thing. Never did nothing to nobody. This address, please... Please look into it. Please help me. I do not know what to do.' She hardly knows who sent it, nor does she want to. The importance of this case is the questions, not necessarily the one who seeks the answers.

At first surveillance, it seems to be a fairly common weapons-smuggling facility. And yet, the way the operation seems to be run suggests something far more… sinister. Renee, with a leather gloved hand, swipes her finger against a puddle of blood outside the warehouse, and brings it to her eye to examine. Rolling the tip of her thumb against it, she sees it’s half-thickened, well on the way to coagulation… Several hours old, at least.

Sparing a moment to adjust her fedora, pinching the brim of it with two fingers and pulling it down, she parkours her way up some crates lining the outer wall, and slips into the window with almost no noise made. Her long black coat flaps in the wind behind her as she lowers herself inside, and carefully makes her way through the shadows. When she steps out of them, she’s palming a small black sphere with a red button behind her back, with such practiced legerdemain as to make it completely unnoticeable.

"I suppose you think this is terribly clever," the faceless woman speaks suddenly, stepping out from the darkness as though materializing from thin air. "Masquerading as a legitimate chemical and arms dealer, so you can blame any and all ‘mishaps’ on simple miscalculations, testing mistakes, and acts of god… I only wonder how many have been made to suffer for the sake of your very much intentional ‘miscalculations’. Tell me, how much did the GCPD charge to change the official definition of your little organization here from ‘murder syndicate’ to ‘legitimate pharmacy’? I’m betting it was astronomical, and that you probably had to cut your dental plan to accommodate. Dental's always the first to go, eh?”

It’s a bold assertion, and a bolder entrance, considering she’s exceptionally outnumbered and rather outgunned-- a point made quite obvious when two dozen hammers click into place, their respective barrels all pointed at her.

But she has a theory. And a backup plan.

ooc;

Hiya, all. A quick update from vacation land: again, I'll be returning nighttime on the 20th, sometime around 11 PM-ish central.

Two, I passed 250 followers while I've been on said vacation, so. Yay! Should I do a giveaway thing? y/n? Thoughts?

And three, hello new followers! As a general rule, I don't craft starters automatically for all who follow me, but am happy to respond to anything in my tag, requests to plot in my inbox, or requests for me to write up starters and such. So don't be shy! Come speak to me!