Jean threw his cigarette into the garbage can in the airport's lobby.

"This American had better be worth it, waiting two hours for him." he muttered.

Rico just stared on, scanning the crowd.

"Is that him?" she asked, pointing at a man traveling with a young girl.

Jean looked up. It was him.

Lt. Vincent James. The American agent assigned to the case.

The girl he had with him looked about 12.

Her movement was just as natural as a real girl's, but Jean could tell.

The Americans were good at cybernetics, it seemed.

Vincent saw them and waved.

"Doesn't seem too professional, does he?" Hillshire laughed.

Triela refrained from saying anything, surprisingly.

Vincent headed over to the group.

"You must be... Jean?" he asked Jean.

"Yes." Jean replied.

"That means you must be Rico." Vincent continued.

He paused at Hillshire, his finger pointing at nothing in particular.

"I'm gonna guess... Hillshire?"

Hillshire nodded.

Vincent grinned.

"That means you must be Triela. I've heard a lot about the Warrior Princess." he said.

Triela blushed.

"Well, I'm Vincent. And this is Jackie. Jackie, say hello."

"Hi." Jackie said, shyly.

"You'll have to excuse Jackie, she's shy around crowds. But she's the only government-issued thing I trust to work right." Vincent said, patting Jackie on the head. "Hell, even my sidearm's personal."

The group headed to a van outside the airport.

"So why are you here?" Rico asked Vincent.

"Well, Uncle Sam seems to have found a link between Al Qaeda and Padania." He replied. "Plus, I've always wanted to visit Italy. You gotta see Florence before you die, right?"

"There's a car following us." Jackie said, her voice almost a whisper.

Vincent looked out the rear window.

"Yep. Black Camaro. Mean lookin' mothers. Jackie, you Condition One?"

"Yes sir."

"Go Condition Zero."

"Rico, Triela, same goes for you." Jean ordered.

Rico pulled out her CZ-75 Pre-B. Jackie pulled an identical pistol. Triela chambered a round in her P7.

"Contact in 10." Vincent muttered.

The Camaro sped up.

"Make that 5."

The front end of the Camaro impacted the van's bumper, and another car blindsided them from the west, sending the van into a spin.

Triela leaped into action as the van slowed, getting two rounds into the Camaro's driver.

The Camaro's passenger opened fire with a machine pistol, hitting Triela in the shoulder, spinning her to the ground.

Jackie failure drilled the passenger.

"Jackie, Rico, take care of Triela!" Vincent shouted, pulling a Smith and Wesson 4006, and shooting out the windshield.

Rico checked Triela's wounds, Jackie covering her six.

The second car's occupant's opened up with subguns, but combined fire from Vincent, Jean, and Hillshire put them down.

After securing the crash site, Vincent lit up a smoke.

"Whoo! That was fuckin' perfect, you guys!" he said, holding up his hand for a high-five. No one gave him one. He put his hand down, disappointed.

"How the fuck am I supposed to trust you guys if I can't even get some brofists?" he muttered.

"Triela, are you okay?" Hillshire asked.

"I'm fine." she replied. "It was a small caliber bullet. It couldn't even penetrate my arm fully."

"You were reckless, Triela. You need to have someone covering your back." Hillshire scolded.

"She did fine, dude. Reacted faster than any of us." Vincent said. "Hell, she should be able to trust that we're covering her back. If anything, we're in the wrong."