"There should only be two of them, the same two we met with before."

That was of course the plan, however plans had a funny way of changing on short notice. Something that was no secret to Arryn nor Joshua, who were both currently seated in the same Altima they arrived in when meeting with the desperate revolutionaries for the first time. In the pre-sunrise blackness, their "lookout" consisted solely of watching the empty parking lot they were stationed with for flashing headlights. A task, that once able to be completed, would be easy with the lack of anyone coming to the lot at this time of day. 4:00 AM on the dot. Arryn's hand lay atop the gun in her lap, and her wary eyes shifting back and forth, almost expecting the other party's vehicle to literally appear from nowhere.

"You shouldn't be needing that."

Joshua didn't even have to look over to what his compatriot was doing in order to assume that statement be true. Gripping onto the steering wheel tightly, he sighs and mumbles his complaints with the lack of punctuality on behalf of the revolutionaries.

"Yeah, somehow I ain't sure of that one chief."

"God dammit Arryn-"

"Goddamn me? Oh right, once they realize they've been gypped they're just going to roll over and accept it. Right, and then they'll give us more money for outsmarting them! You're a fucking idiot I hope you realize. You can't just rip someone off to the tune of four twenty five k and expect them to just go with it."

"I ain't looking to start a fuckin' firefight in the middle 'a town, eh? Or did ya forget that part when you decided to kill 'em all?"

"I didn't forget shit. Gun's silenced. They hand us the money, I shoot both of them dead, we hop back in here and hightail it the fuck outta dodge before anyone realizes what they heard."

"Right, and have domestic terrorists on our tail. Brilliant plan Arryn. Wonderful."

Shaking her head, Arryn goes back to her self appointed scan of the lot with no such luck. The customers to be (duped) still have yet to arrive, and in her frustration's new found amplification, she mutters a lengthy string of profanities before rubbing her eyes and slamming her head into the back of her seat.

"Alright asshole, what's your plan? Take the money and run? Surely that won't piss them off and make 'em come after us. Fuck you."

"Shut up, alright? We don't have time to discuss this. Just follow my lead."

Arryn opens her mouth, eager to object, when she sees precisely what Joshua sees. The flash of headlights pulling up from the opposite end of the parking lot. Looking down at her lap, she grabs onto the gun and doesn't make an effort of hiding it, leaving that up to the night's natural concealment. The lightly growling engine of the revolutionaries' car cuts off, and so do the headlights. Only then does she push open her door and hop out. Though the night was acting as the perfect concealer for not only her weapon, but everyone's faces, it didn't take too much guessing for her to find out that at least one part of the plan was going as expected. Right, the only two people here representing the suckers were indeed the two she and Joshua met prior. The spokesman, with Che Guevara's likeness splattered across his shirt in the greatest irony of 'em all stands with the briefcase in his hand. The other man, the silent apprentice almost, stands nervously looking over his shoulder at every chirp of a cricket.

"Alright. We ready?"

"All good from our end. You got the cash?"

No words. The spokesman just lifts the briefcase higher and shakes it. Even in the night, it's somewhat visible.

"Good. Hand it over."

"You first."

"See, there's a problem there..."

Click. The sound of Arryn releasing the safety. She smiles solely to herself, a giddy, overenthusiastic to be doing what she's about to do grin that were anyone to see it, would most certainly unnerve. Through the darkness, the gun is pointed not at the obnoxious spokesman. No, to the silent apprentice.

"You don't wanna do this."

"I beg to differ."

"Come on! You don't know who you're messing with! That guy with me? He's the leader's brother!"

That was all the incentive Arryn needed. With one pull of the trigger and a muffled bang, the leader's brother lay, fallen to the ground and clutching his chest as blood drained rapidly from the wound. Without thinking, she unloads a few more rounds into the twitching, writhing body until there was either no movement, or at the very least no visible movement from the now either deceased or soon to be deceased brother.

"What the fuck?!"

Exactly what Joshua was thinking, but didn't want to say aloud.

"The money. Now."

Without hesitation, the spokesman tosses the briefcase over to Joshua, before getting cold clocked in the side of the head from the same gun used to kill the man. Just like that, he was down but not quite out. Another blow from the gun, this one rained straight down onto his face was enough to do the trick however.

"What the fuck was that for Arryn?! Are you trying to get us all killed?"

"I protected us, just like I'm supposed to. You're the one planning on killing us all with this batshit stupid plan of yours."

"What about the body and the money?"

"Castro over there. He took the guns and gave us the money. We left before they did. We saw nothing. Both were okay when we left them."

"Okay, and what are we going to do with him?"

"For now, I'm thinking the trunk's a good place."

"Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"I don't think even you're that stupid. Now, get him in the trunk."

"What? Me? This was your idea."

"Hey, killing someone in cold blood takes a lot out of a person."

"I'll bet..."

With that and no further objections, possibly because he didn't want to end up the next person with a bullet in him due to this situation, Joshua drags the body of the spokesman over to the now popped trunk of the car and tosses him inside of it. Slamming the door shut, he walks over to the driver's side door and powers up the engine before driving back out the parking lot the same way from whence they came. Which of course would leave one major question for anyone with two braincells to rub together to ponder.

How far could the spokesman have gotten if he left his car in the lot?