Signature prided himself in being the first anywhere, which included the meeting room. Yes, perhaps he did shove Sharp aside to step first through that threshold, but the thought was instantly submerged by the feeling of the fresh cold sting of a vacant room and the budding excitement that came with exploration. Well, this wasn't his first time in this room (he had gone on a few missions beforehand) but Signature hardly considered boring diplomatic games of tug-of-war a mission. So he would treat each entrance into this room as a new one, at least until he got a real mission. A man's mission. With guns. And most importantly action.

But it was hard to take any mission seriously inside such a non-descript safe room. Signature was used to receiving missions underneath a burlap sack that only respectable army men would call briefing grounds (though Signature would slip every now and then and call it a tent) from the mouth of a burly hulk of muscle Signature could only address as SIR (add spittle where required). This room, on the other hand, was stepped, divided into two columns and sat very much like a classroom did. A boring, regular, four sided classroom. In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised if it was once. The room was perhaps the oldest in the building and judging from the worn wooden benches and outdated color patterns, it probably was part of the unrenovated space way back when. The room was spacious for being so small.

By the time Signature took his seat besides Sharp (well Sharp was sitting next to him at the time), the other members began filing into the room. As far as Signature remembered, only the members that were to join in the mission sat in during the briefing. Being the newest recruit and all, he only knew a few faces (but that, by no means, meant he remembered their names). Still, it wasn't the lack of a familiar face in the room that deflated Signature's hope. No, it was the sheer number of people entering the room. Signature stopped counting at twelve (Why the hell did he need to count past twelve anyway? This was the Twelfth Circle! Not More or Less Twelfth Circle!) and the head count was quickly filling up the empty seats in the room.

Signature felt himself sink into his chair. Already he was feeling like a face in the crowd. His hopes of an actual exciting mission was quickly reduced to a plea for a task that at least involved running. Hell, he'd be glad if he was able to hold a diplomatic conversation with some politician on the track field! What kind of mission would need so many members anyway--

Oh God.

Signature felt his heart skip a beat for the first time in, possibly, his entire life. His eyes trailed the last (well the first and only as far as Signature was concerned) member to cross the threshold. His hand reached out to tap Sharp on the shoulder, completely unaware that Sharp had moved away some time ago and that his gesture was more of a full handed seize upon the arm of a complete stranger who had the misfortune of sitting besides him. If his neighbor made a noise, it wasn't registered in Signature's ears. How could it? The only noise he could hear now was a blanketing silence that engulfed any extraneous noise aside from the footsteps of the man entering the room, the flapping of his coat against his legs as he moved, the sizzle from the burning death stick perched on his lip, hell, he could make out the scraping noises the molecules of smoke made against the air as it wisped about the room (maybe).

A minute voice laced into the background. "The hell! What gives?"

Grave. It was Grave. Grave the sharpshooter. Grave with his bolt action sniper rifle that shot out 7 mm rounds of accurate pure awesomeness. Complete with the intense frown, with the aura of bad-assery, and the cigarette butt spewing out noxious fumes with no regards to anyone who even openly declared their dislike of it. Signature was perhaps the only one in the entire room to breath in the second hand smoke as if it were life water. Grave was the reason for Signature to be living, sitting, no, existing in the room right now. This man was quite literally his hero. And this man was going to be joining him in this mission.

The same voice again (which, upon hindsight, was Elegy's shrill hot-tempered voice quickly becoming more impatient). "...Who the hell are you?"

Thoughts and verbal words were interchangeable now. He couldn't bring himself to look away from Grave, as if the man were to vanish the moment he took his eyes away as if a phantom, but he couldn't just ignore Elegy either. Not that he intended to answer her question. She were making conversation-like noises and that was all that registered in Signature's head. So instead of turning to face her, he moved his entire head closer to Elegy's while maintaining line of sight with Grave. He spoke in a rushed whisper that was obviously too loud to be kept secret.

"It's him! Is he joining us in the mission?!"

"Who, Grave?"

"I have to be dreaming! But if I am, I could die in my sleep happy!"

Elegy turned to face Signature now with what he assumed was an awestruck ecstatic expression (maybe). "Who, Grave?"

"This has to be the happiest day of my life!"

Throughout the entire conversation, Signature played fantasies of picking up Grave's bullet casings after successful shootings, looking through the man's scope under the pretenses of cleaning his rifle, even being shot by the man from a distance, while contemplating rushing across the steps and shaking the man's hand (thinking so many thoughts at once was actually quite paralyzing) when the whirling emotions and ideas in his mind were immediately and forcibly quelled. Grave had moved through the room only to stop at the first row, a regretful few rows and floorboards away from where Signature was sitting. It wasn't the fact that Grave didn't even turn his eyes up to acknowledge Signature's presence (Signature would have to at least explode a building in order to be granted that privilege), but the fact that he stopped besides someone at all.

The hatted figure which Signature now remembered to be Rest rose to greet Grave. He bore the usual cheerful expression, lips flapping some words that Signature couldn't be bothered to process. He was busy analyzing the facial movements of Grave's face. The slight break in his frown. What was that, the crack of a smile?

"Everyone here? I think it's about time we got started." Overture's voice cut through the mingling chatter and into Signature's thoughts. Signature must have risen out of his seat at some point as he was able to lower himself rather dejectedly back down, even sink a bit. His face bore a confused frown as he (much to Elegy's surprise) gently released her arm and retreated into a restrained silence. Overture cleared his throat, quickly ensnaring any wandering minds.

"For those of you who just came back from missions, I apologize." He nodded towards Signature, Sharp and Rest of which only two nodded back. "This mission requires a fair amount of capable hands and I would not ask all of you to come if it needed any less. Needless to say..." His eyes wandered over to where Finale was standing besides if not slightly behind him. Her face was stoic, as usual, and in her hands was a manila folder. "...This mission will be dangerous, but pays handsomely if we succeed." He straightened his back, his face trying to mimic a smile that his eyes betrayed. Still, he had many of the members convinced if not himself. "It's a well calculated gamble, one I'm willing to bet on, but I won't force each one of you to join. I won't hold it against you if you refuse."

He was met with a silence in the room. Even Signature now was paying close attention. Overture shifted his weight, throwing a glance back towards Finale. He waved his hand, allowing her to step forward. "If you'd do the honors Finale."

Finale nodded and looked to address the Circle. She clasped her arms behind her back, the manilla folder wedged between her palms and though she were much smaller than Overture seemed to easily draw eyes towards her as she spoke.

"This mission will be a hostage exchange."

Words like that usually incited a flurry of whispers among the group, but really the only noticable different was the unified silence. Hostage piqued Signature's interest (and hope for an action packed mission) and he too turned to pay close attention. It took just about everything he had to push the growing disappointment out of mind, but it happened eventually.

"Two weeks ago, a man by the name of Roman Francesco was arrested for the attempted murder of Sir Villum Black. He's part of a small terrorist organization outside of the city walls rumored to stalk the northern palisades. Why he and his group wanted Sir Black dealt with is classified information that the police won't volunteer."

Vivace, sitting one row below Signature, gave a grim nod. "I've heard that Mr. Francesco was passed off to the military and is now incarcerated in one of it's highest prisons."

Finale nodded to Vivace, "You heard correctly, Vivace. Unfortunately news goes around fast. Three days ago, Reeves received a message demanding the release of Roman Francesco. In exchange, they would release one of their own prisoners, Sir Connor Hildebrand."

Again, it was Vivace who spoke up, "Connor Hildebrand? I haven't heard of him before. His name sounds..." She lifted her head, as if a thought surfaced in her mind that answered her question. Her lips formed a neat 'Oh' and she fell silent once again. It would take Signature a full minute later to realize that her expression now matched Overture's, who remained quiet the entire time.

Finale studied Vivace's face for a moment, but didn't respond. She continued on with her briefing. "Connor was reported missing during the three week period that Roman Francesco was incarcerated. He left the Hildebrand estate to run errands and never reported back. It's no surprise that he would turn up as prisoner to a group of bandits." Finale gave a shrug, almost a sigh even, but kept her posture. "Reeves received a photograph of Connor along with the message. It's dated five days ago, but it's the best certainty we have that he's alive."

Overture spoke up this time. "Connor Hildebrand is the first son of the Hildebrand family, soon to be heir to the title and figurehead of the Jormungand army. Many people would gladly give an arm and a leg to see that their liege is returned safely."

"Okay, so where does the Circle factor into this?"

Overture cast a glance to Sharp. "The terrorists demand an exchange. Connor Hildebrand, promised to be unharmed and healthy, for Roman Francesco alive and well. They demand the exchange be made via a third party and at the northern edge of city, outside of the city walls but within sight of the northern palisades. I'm sure you've all figured it out by now, but that would be us."

"Hold on." Vivace stood up this time, a frown crossing her face. "The entire affair, it's impossible. Roman Francesco was already sentenced to death. All that's left is pile of cremated ashes."

"They actually cremated him? How generous of Reeves."

"They certainly don't expect us trade a lump of soot do they? Unless they're gonna do the same to Connor Hildebrand. Then it'll be a fair trade, that's for sure."

Overture lifted his hand, waiting for the Circle to quiet down before continuing. "The organization's information network is dodgy at best. They aren't aware that Roman Francesco is already dead." He gave a look to Vivace as if to say, 'I'm surprised you knew'. "However Reeves doesn't want to take the chance of letting Connor go as well, so we've no other choice but to proceed with this plan."

"How? We gonna use a straw doll to act as Francesco or what?"

Overture gave a smile. "Not quite, but you've got the general idea Elegy. Reeves is fishing through the throng of prisoners he's got and he's gonna give us a Roman look-alike in exchange for a pardon of crimes. No doubt it's not gonna be perfect, especially once they take a close look, but all they need is to think it's him from far away. The farce isn't gonna last forever, I know. The terrorists are gonna be downright angry once they figure out, but that's what everyone else is here for."

He crossed his arms, surveying the group with a critical eye. "We don't need everyone, but god knows, we can definitely use everyone. They'll be at least two of us that are needed to make the actual exchange. You will be unarmed as to not incite panic. I'll need several of you to scout the location ahead of time as well as to gather information about who exactly it is we're dealing with. Vivace, I'll leave that to you. Recruit at your own discretion. The rest are there for protective measures, in case things get bad. Don't get me wrong, things will go bad, but if the terrorists know what's good for them they'll surrender and there won't be too much bloodshed. As I said before, this mission will be dangerous. We have to protect Connor Hildebrand at all cost, but we cannot let a single terrorist escape. The exchange will happen the day after tomorrow, giving us one day to prepare so let's not waste any time."

Immediately the room was afire with words, people volunteering their name to the cause. Vivace had descended to the front of the room, taking names down as she heard them. Signature made sure his was the first to go down, and virtually everyone else had followed at his heels. In fact, several of the members, namely Minuet and Canon, had already taken their leave no doubt to scour up any information about this organization as possible.

Overture, after exchanging a few somber words with Finale, rested his hand reassuringly on Finale's shoulder. Her face portrayed no noticable emotion though she seemed grateful for Overture's show of compassion. Within that second Overture withdrew and went to attend to matters with Vivace. Finale turned back to the crowd, her face returning to the placid frown she was known for.