[ Third Person POV ]

Sergeant and Legion had already known they had their work cut out for them when it came to Desmond (he was a kid whose skill sets revolved around technology, not espionage or even socializing) but once they hit the streets of Dubai, they realized they may have underestimated the extent of the damage. The redhead stuck out like a sore thumb as it was, but with his wide eyes and shell-shocked expression ... both of the men were consistently resisting the urge to scrub their hands over their faces.

The worst part of it all was that Imitate was probably going to start laughing at them as soon as they came upon the meeting place. What with Team Bravo looking like frustrated and overwhelmed parents toting a completely conspicuous child who was a neon sign for pickpockets.

At more than one point in their trek through the streets, other civilians would witness Sergeant randomly stiff-arm individuals who got too close to Desmond. It got to a point where Sarge was making himself more conspicuous for the sake of keeping Desmond from losing anything and everything on his person.

Legion stuck to the opposite side of Desmond and surveyed their surroundings for Imitate. He had full faith that his partner would keep Desmond intact, so he was in faec-scanning mode.

Imitate was incredibly good at what she did, after all; blending in in any number of situations. Dubai would be easy for her.

"I don't speak Arabic," Sergeant suddenly recalled, right after he had tripped a bloke who got just a little too close to Desmond.

"Neither do I," Legion said. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. It isn't as though anyone's going to try and approach us." He shot his partner an amused smile. "Especially not with how you're taking out everyone who does."

"The bright side," a clear British accent said from behind them, "is that I do."

All three spun around (some faster than others) to face a petite young woman. Her sleek, raven black framed smooth cheekbones perfectly, her eyes shining a light and inhuman silver color as she assessed the young men critically. She was slim, and dressed in what Team Bravo could only guess was a highly expensive (and likely designer) dress that showed off her curves. Her tan skin helped her to blend in; for all intents and purposes, she looked like a femme fatale.

Imitate flashed a pearly white smile at the clearly awe-struck redhead, before looking between Team Bravo. "Boys," she said with a charming smile. "It's about time you showed up. Who is our American friend?"

"Imitate," Legion was the first to smile at the young woman. Though she was only seventeen, she looked older; something that she often used to her advantage. "This is Desmond," he said, elbowing the redhead.

Desmond's mouth had fallen open as he gaped at Imitate. Now he understood why Rebel had warned against drooling over Imitate. It was like the sight of her had shut off every higher brain function he had.

Sergeant was the one who pushed Desmond's mouth shut. He turned back to Imitate and picked up where his partner had left off; "But you can also call him Freckles, or Dezzy. He's our new tech-whiz."

"A pleasure to meet you, Desmond," Imitate said with an amused smile. She turned her attention back to Sergeant and Legion without further delay. "I'm afraid we must get going. I've just had the pleasure of dispatching a trio of men in combat wear, and I'm fairly certain they aren't the only ones around."

"Fine by us," Sergeant said immediately, not at all hesitant to follow her when she began to navigate the crowds. "We need to get outta here, anyway. We've only got so long 'fore we're supposed to meet others in London."

Neither Sergeant nor Legion was surprised that Desmond was now moving at a much more determined pace. Nor were they surprised that his wandering gaze had stopped, well, wandering; his eyes were still fixated (and wide-eyed) on Imitate, and surprisingly enough, he kept up with her.

"London, hm?" Imitate hummed. She granted Team Bravo a smile over her shoulder. "Sounds manageable to me. I know a billionaire not far from here who owes me a favor. Follow me, boys."

Desmond's steps stuttered then, and it took Legion giving him a slight shove to keep him going. His eyes were wider than ever now as he looked over at Legion. "Did she say billionaire?"

"Yup," Sarge and Legion said simultaneously. Legion continued, "Imitate is a linguist. Her job's a little more glamorous than the rest of ours; she's got a lot of higher-up connections."

Desmond's mouth rounded out to an 'o' at that, otherwise seeming at a loss for words. Yet he was no less captivated by the young lady, nor did he slow his pace anymore. In fact, he kept right beside her, leaving both parts of Team Bravo to smirk from behind.

They were allowed to think some things were cute, after all.

--

[ Alternate Third Person POV ]

"If he jumps out at me with a machete I'm gonna deck him," Low said.

The streets Catatonic, Gunner, and Low were walking were more crowded and less clean than those in Dubai. Vendors lined the streets, and stray dogs could often be found underfoot or tucked off to a side napping.

Everything was chaos. Gunner's trigger finger was a little spazzy as a result of the higher stress environment, but he was doing his best to stay casual. Low looked somewhat like a grouchy local, dark brown eyes glimmering as she surveyed her surroundings. Catatonic, though by no means close to Indian in appearance, did a decent job blending in anyway. He had an easy-going nature, and was highly adaptive, capable of switching mannerisms to blend in wherever he was.

Needless to say, they were doing a better job being inconspicuous than those in Dubai had been.

"I don't think Rage is just going to jump us," Catatonic said nonchalantly. "He's got more tact than that. At least, he used to. Might've gone haywire since we last saw him— who knows," he shrugged.

"I really doubt he 'went haywire,'" Gunner said, glancing over at Low as if seeking confirmation.

"Anything can happen," Cat smirked, clearly enjoying egging Gunner on.

Gunner only allowed Catatonic an eye roll in the means of a response; he chose to refocus his attention on looking for Rage. If there was one thing that was certain, it was that Rage was ... unpredictable. Being a master survivalist, he had always spent more time in the field than in headquarters. In fact, most of his training had gone on outside of LASAR territory.

"Where are we supposed to be meeting him, again?" Low asked, a bored undertone in her voice.

"A vendor that sells rugs," Catatonic answered. "Which would appear to be many, I'm just gonna say it."

"Starting to wish I had gone with Team Alpha," Gunner muttered to himself, eyes tracing over each of the vendors. Honestly, there weren't that many that sold rugs, but there were several that sold various types of fabrics. He resisted the urge to correct Cat, and instead kept moving, having taken the lead.

"Aw, you enjoy us and y'know it, Gun," Cat said, his smirk audible.

Gunner remained silent, specifically because he had caught sight of a vendor where rugs were hanging. He moved toward it with more determination than before, and slowed as he approached the man standing behind it. Said gentleman seemed to be a little shaken, his dark eyes wide as he looked up at Gunner in surprise. He said something that Gunner didn't understand — languages weren't his area — before Gunner cleared his throat. "English?" he asked, hope tinging the word.

The man shook his head quickly, but no sooner had he than did one of the rugs behind him shift. Gunner's gaze followed the movement just in time to see a huge Israeli emerge, dark brown eyes somehow frigid as they fixed him with a stern gaze

Gunner relaxed immediately. "Rage," he greeted quietly, Catatonic and Low only then moving up behind him.

"Oh, look, it is him," Catatonic said cheerfully. "Figures Gun'd be the one to find him, right, Low?"

Low ignored her friend in favor of watching Rage say something to the vendor before he moved around toward the trio, his eyes skipping between each of them before settling on Gunner. "I was expecting more of you," the survivalist said in a deep and rough voice. He was dressed in worn out clothing that looked native to the region, and though it was obviously street-wear, it didn't do much to hide the hulking form beneath it.

"We're meeting in London," Low said, snapping her gum soon after.

"And lemme tell ya," Catatonic continued for her, "it was hard to find you, man. Now I get it, you're good at blending and what-have-you, but good grief, this is so far off-grid, Low's practically at home," he said, jerking a finger at the girl.

Rage wasn't affected by Catatonic's jabbering. Man had nerves of steel so far as Gunner could tell; he'd once watched the survivalist get screamed at by Boss without so much as flinching. The annoyance that Catatonic provided was next to nothing in comparison to that, Gunner mused.

Before anything else could be said, blurs of black ran at the four of them — the sound of a gun being fired spurred Gunner into action, right as a dark form wrapped an arm around Low's neck.

Catatonic was the first to respond to his friend being thrown into an abrupt head-lock, and he acted viciously.

One-two—shots fired from a gun that seemed to materialize in Cat's hand, and Low was free from the hold, anger burning in her eyes.

The first shot fired had apparently been intended for Rage, but had missed its mark, instead putting a hole through one of the vendor's rugs. Rage had become a blur of movement as soon as the Kinetic agents had revealed themselves, two large blades emerging from beneath baggy clothing.

Rage was a whirlwind of movement from there, interrupted only by the stray swing or kick from Low, or a well-aimed shot from Gunner or Catatonic. The scene that came about in the street was unavoidable, and even once all of the Kinetic agents were dealt with, the former agents knew they weren't safe yet.

Any cover they may have had had just been blown. Police would be alerted, and there were likely more Kinetic in the wings, waiting ... they needed to get out of Delhi.

"Rage!" Gunner shouted over the sound of the panicking crowds once the last Kinetic agent had fallen.

"Follow me," was all the survivalist said. His knives disappeared into the sheathes they'd come from as he whisked the others down the streets.

Gunner ensured Cat and Low went before him, his own dark eyes scanning the scene. Panic had erupted in their wake, and no matter what happened, he knew this was not going to end well.