[ DIFFERENT THIRD PERSON POV: BEFORE RISK AND REBEL'S ENTRANCE ]

Imitate was dressed to the nines, with one arm loosely grasping Desmond's arm. Desmond felt laughably underdressed as the two of them approached the building the UN meeting was taking place in. He was doing his best not to open his mouth and say anything that would draw too much attention their way, especially since he already stood out like a sore thumb.

"You're doing fine," Imitate said as they approached the throngs of people, her cool gaze sharp as she surveyed the world leaders who were exiting their vehicles. "Just stay relaxed," she urged, gently steering him toward one man in particular.

Desmond couldn't really make out distinctive features, but whatever Imitate had seen of the man had clearly been enough for her to decide he would be the one utilized to get into the building. Technically, they were supposed to be as covert as possible. They were the first ones on the ground, as Risk had put it, and she really didn't want to have to ride into a situation where bullets were already flying.

That was a lot of pressure for an untrained teenage boy, but Imitate was continuously reassuring him that everything would be fine. He was inclined to believe her; what experience he didn't have, she made up for in spades.

Desmond had just become acutely aware of their proximity to the police officers when Imitate called out to the man whom they were approaching. He didn't quite catch the name she'd spoken — he was a little too busy trying not to shrink under the gaze of the giant cop who looked like he was considering manhandling he and Imitate — but once the man turned and spotted Imitate, he actually broke into a smile. Desmond did his best to contain his shock when the well-dressed leader waved the officer off, urging Imitate and himself through the blockade.

Imitate released Desmond's arm and surged forward to embrace the man lightly, allowing Desmond to take a better look at him. He was older, looked to be in his fifties, and from what Desmond could tell, was probably from the Middle East. He didn't know where ... this really wasn't his forte.

"And your friend—?" Desmond heard then, his focus shooting back to Imitate and the man.

She flashed a charming smile. "He actually has some business to attend to inside. I'm afraid we failed to arrive early enough for him to do so ... would you mind if I joined you in the meantime?" she asked, smile still in place. Desmond didn't notice the strategic touch to the man's upper arm, nor did it really register in his mind, the way her posture shifted as she leaned.

Imitate was in her element. Powerful men of all brands may have liked to think themselves above manipulation and control, but she knew better. Relationships in their world were a game — one that Imitate knew well. And so far, she was the uncontested champion.

This instance was no exception. The Afghani head of state smiled fondly at Imitate and nodded his consent, making a side comment to the man who had accompanied him to this meeting, and gesturing at Imitate simultaneously.

Desmond watched all of this with suppressed amazement. When Imitate walked away with the man, it took him a few seconds to remember that he had a job in this situation, too. That memory spurred him back into action, sending him quickly after the duo. He was relieved that, now that he was on this side of the blockade, no one was paying him any special attention. He didn't dwell on that for long, though — instead he ducked into the building and veered off to the left as Imitate moved straight ahead, toward the elevator at the back of the room.

No one tried to stop him.

He tugged his phone out of his pocket, bringing up the map that he'd found when they were hammering out the plan. He followed it carefully, looking up from the screen only a few times before he found himself in front of the appropriate door. Rebel's warning echoed in his ears, the reminder that he needed to move as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Because the pressure of taking down an entire building's security system with a cellphone and whatever other technology was available was obviously not enough to keep him motivated.

Desmond stared at the door for a split second, doing his best to ignore the way his heart hammered in his chest. He sucked in a deep breath, cast one more look down at the time on the phone ... "I can do this," he muttered to himself before he reached for the door and pushed his way into the room.

It was a tight, back-closet-like space, but exactly where he needed to be. The main security room would be under lock and key — and guard, for that matter — while this was more like back door access to the system. Desmond closed the door quietly after himself, looked up at the giant computers before him, and allowed himself to slip into his typical mentality when dealing with technology.

The rest came naturally. There were a few seconds pause along the way, mostly as he was transmitting the virus from his phone into the computers, but soon enough he was done.

He slipped out of the door and toward the elevator Imitate had taken without anyone even noticing his presence.

When he reached the appropriate floor and headed down the hall toward the meeting room, he was unsurprised to see Imitate standing at the door, chatting cheerfully with one of the guards. The man seemed enamored by Imitate's presence, and Desmond begrudgingly admitted to himself that he couldn't exactly blame him.

When Imitate spotted Desmond coming in her periphery, she didn't miss a beat. "Here he is!" she chirped with an affable smile at the guard, gesturing toward the redhead. "I told you, he probably got lost ... not that I blame him, it isn't as though we've ever been in the building before," she chuckled.

The guard didn't so much as give Desmond a second look. "Of course, miss. I'm glad I could help you," he said, a smile on his own lips. Actually, he looked flat out starstruck. Imitate was quite proud of herself on this one.

She took Desmond's arm in her hand again, not dissimilar to how they'd initially approached the building. "Thank you again!" she called over her shoulder at the guard, before tugging Desmond along toward the back of the room. She led him clear past a large, circular, open table that took up most of the space, to a row of chairs where other well-dressed individuals were seated. Imitate tugged him down into a seat beside her, and leaned into him simultaneously; "Assistants," she informed him lowly. Her eyes were not on him as they sat, instead raking over the room with a feline-like intensity. "The few who are allowed to be in this kind of meeting with the leaders."

Desmond and Imitate were seated in the back of the rows of chairs, tucked neatly away behind a number of well dressed adults. It didn't take him long to realize that, while he could see most of what was happening in the room, they were just out of sight from everyone else. His gaze darted to the number of security guards who were stationed around the room, each of them armed and standing ram-rod straight, hardly even blinking. His eyes passed over them without actually registering any of the faces.

Imitate watched calmly as the doors closed. A woman got up to speak from the circular table, smoothing out her dress suit as she did so. "The Secretariat," Imitate informed Desmond in a whisper.

He nodded as though he understood what that meant.

She offered no further explanation, instead listening as the woman gave the mandatory greeting. Or rather, began to greet everyone — she was standing for less than a minute when a muffled shot pierced the air, just quiet enough compared to the speaking that Imitate almost didn't hear it.

The Secretariat was rendered abruptly silent, and she dropped to the floor with a thud, blood blossoming on the left breast of her suit.

Desmond froze as he realized what had happened. All of the United Nations leaders moved to get up, each of them barking orders in a variety of languages at their assistants, when a flash of snow-white hair strode onto the stage in the middle of the table. Desmond didn't even have to look at Imitate to know that this girl was a part of Team Charlie — he recognized her from the video in the warehouse.

Imitate, meanwhile, went grim-faced. Gambler stood proud and tall, a near maniacal grin in place on her pale lips. Immediately, Imitate began to search the room for where the shot had come from, knowing all too well that it had been Aim whom had delivered it. Soon enough, he stepped out from one corner of the room, just beside a blond man. Aim wore an equally villainous grin on his face.

And yet, so far, neither half of Team Charlie had noticed the former LASAR agent.

"If you enjoy living," Gambler projected, her voice echoing through the room as she flipped a throwing knife in one hand expertly, "then you're all going to stay seated and shut up."

The world leaders slowly obliged.

"Why aren't the security guards doing anything?" Desmond asked Imitate quietly, one hand now gripping the back of her chair. His entire body felt like it was on edge. He had no idea how any of the former LASAR agents did this sort of thing on a regular basis.

"You cannot hold us hostage," a Caucasian man retorted in a thick accent Desmond didn't recognize, getting to his feet with a defiant look in his eyes. "We--" He didn't get to finish. Gambler held up one hand as thought it were a gun, and when she 'fired,' one of the security guards shot the speaker down.

He collapsed with a cry of pain as he clutched at his leg. A non-fatal shot.

"Because they're Kinetic agents," Imitate hissed as soon as the act registered in her mind. One of her hands lifted to shield her face from Charlie's view, her head dropping as she twisted her body to face Desmond better.

Aim was standing beside Gambler now, an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. "Actually, we can do whatever we want," he announced, his voice cold as ice.

"Are the others expecting that?" Desmond asked her in reference to the corrupt guards, still watching the unfolding scene with wide eyes, his hand now shifting to rest at her back between her shoulder-blades.

Imitate shook her head, briefly closing her eyes as she considered as many of the options that lay before them as she could. Then she let her hand drop, and she sat up more, not bothering to brush Desmond's hold away. Her lips had twisted into a grimace. "They're going to have to figure it out," she said, her silver eyes once more sweeping the room. This time she began a head count of the Kinetic agents, making a mental map of their positions, noting Aim and Gambler's positions ...

And then, the chaos spiked. Imitate heard gunshots from outside the room. But these were not muffled by a silencer. Her gaze snapped to the door, a faint smile replacing her priorly sullen expression.

"Is that—?" Desmond began to ask.

Imitate only nodded, not allowing her smile to grow.

Aim and Gambler seemed to understand the implications of the shots, too, as they chose to switch strategies; "Everybody on your feet! NOW!" Aim ordered, firing several shots into the ceiling.

A few of the people let out yelps of fear as others glared defiantly, though in spite of the expressions and responses, all of them obeyed Team Charlie's command. Even the assistants, with Imitate and Desmond rising slowly behind the lot of them.

Once everyone was standing, the doors flew open. The force used nearly tore them from their hinges. Every eye in the room turned to see who was coming, and only then did Imitate allow her smile to grow.

Risk and Rebel stood side by side, both with empty hands. The room practically ignited with tension as soon as they entered, Gunner, Snag, and Rage hot on their heels. Imitate didn't have to see Aim and Gambler's faces to know that hatred had darkened their eyes.

She didn't even see the knife that Gambler had been toying with fly through the air — not until Rebel's hands had clapped down loudly on it, mere millimeters before it could make contact with Risk's face.

Imitate shook her head when, in spite of all of that, Risk and Rebel grinned.