Publisher's Synopsis
Over at the weapons-check, Blade noticed a small disturbance between the reserve combat vet and the attendant. Knowing how these things tended to turn out, he brought the incident to the attention of the rest of the party at his table. "I'll give you one more chance to bring MY box!" demanded the reserve combat vet, clearly reaching the end of his rope. "And what are you going to do about it...JACK?" mocked the attendant with a sneer. This exchange caught the attention of everyone in the room and prompted Jack's companions to collect their gear and head for the exit. "We might want to be prepared to move, folks..." observed Jeremiah, picking up his heavily blood-spattered Duster and slipping it on over his well-toned, 5'8" body. Following Jeremiah's lead, the rest of the Wolf Pack and company rapidly packed up their gear, whilst grabbing a final mouthful of their drinks. Seated at a table around the corner from the weapons-check, Terrence asked, "Valentine...you know these guys...should we be worried?" "We should certainly be ready, just in case," Valentine replied. Without thinking, the young, stocky Lestor stood up and moved closer to the weapons-check to get a better look.
