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They rode in Hi-5's Bentley Mod limousine, bathed in the rosy, early morning light that managed to find its way through the rising towers and down the East to West canyons of Baccha Bay City. Once again, the client was paying Big Bucks for a Big Job. After everyone had seen proof of both the Cayman Islands accounts that had been created for them, and the fantastic sums that had been placed in linked escrow transfer accounts, each of them had decided to take the job for their own reasons, and oddly enough the money wasn't the biggest deciding factor.

Alvin was there because the client was willing to pay just to meet The Buddha. That seemed freakishly odd, but Alvin decided he didn't really care. He also suspected that if he'd refused, then the client was going to pay someone even more money to bring him along, whether he wanted to go or not. He remembered being carried around by the Penitent in a bulletproof case meant for golf clubs. He decided that he'd rather just accept the job and breathe fresh air.

Alvin also decided to dress the part with a freshly shaved head, and he wore an orange synthetic sheet taken from Shelby's bed. It was wrapped around him like a monk's robes, and it smelled like Girl. Alvin wondered if maybe meeting The Buddha would put the mindfuck on the client like it had so many others. He thought, hearing bits of the plan, that it was beginning to sound like the client's mind was already truly fuct. The only thing Alvin was sure of was that he didn't care about the money because he really didn't care about anything anymore.

The Wacky Gas, of which he'd gotten such a massive dose in the basement of the POP club, caused some temporary memory loss but now Alvin remembered fumbling with the trigger of the Morituri bodyguard's discarded pistol while he stared down the barrel, laughing at death. He was sorry he'd traded the gun for the joint. Like so many things, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Maybe, Alvin thought, I'll be lucky and get killed before we get there.

Bonnie knew she had orders to infiltrate under RED BARON protocols, there was no need to put her on the High Priority Target Blacklist. Shoot On Sight. That was a mark of death. That was never part of RED BARON, never part of her mission. Delvaux, it seemed, wanted her dead. Was she suddenly an embarrassment like the six Operators who'd sided with Alvin? Whatever the reason, Bonnie needed to know why. One way or another this would come to some point of resolution. Either she'd bring Delvaux his prize and prove her loyalty or... The name of Kelly O'Toole, Angry Angel recruit, echoed in her head. Oh, Tool.

Catherine didn't know why White Sunday wanted her dead, but she thought that being a hero in the Battle of the Zig was a good way to change that. If that failed, then at least she'd be paid enough to run. Maybe, she thought, I'll get killed and that will solve everything.

Technically, Casper hadn't taken the job for the money. Technically, he'd taken the job just to have someone say he was worth something. In this case, a whole lot of something in a numbered Cayman Islands account. Though he didn't realize it himself, and he'd never admit it if he did, he'd have taken the job even if the client had only transferred a hundred Amero into the account. I'm a mercenary, he thought, fuckin' A! Everybody else he saw in the world seemed to be one. Lawyers, corporates, sex-workers. They were all professionals. They all got paid for services rendered. Yeah, well, now I'm a professional too, fuckin A! Casper felt like he was worth something.

Hi-5 was there for three simple reasons: she liked sticking it to the man, she wanted a chance to put a bullet in Padre Pedro, and she thought shooting a PornoPop video on the top of the G.S.A.'s Ziggurat in the middle of a battle was a pretty dope idea.

Carlos couldn't say no to the insistent client, or to that much money. He was afraid of the client and he wanted the money. That was a stick and a carrot pointing his ass in the same direction, and he'd given in even though he had plenty of doubts.

Otis couldn't say no to a fat account, and as he'd put it, “If Casper's going, then I don't want to have to hear his freakin' war stories for the next decade.” The rest of the Dark didn't seem so hot on major military action, and after Carlos nodded approvingly, shrugged, and said, “Gotta be alive to spend it,” they looked relieved. Shelby, Wujay, Singh, and Cheese decided to stay home, get stoned, and count the money they'd already made.

Carlos thought that was pretty smart. Gotta be alive to spend it, Carlos told himself. Then he told himself to Shut the Fuck Up. Carlos wished he was smart enough to stay home and risk the client's wrath or dumb enough to enjoy what was undoubtedly going to be the sort of Exciting Time for which one should never, ever wish.