A blocky silhouette stood out against the pink background of the Islay cloud. Ice crystals struck the cruise shield dome projected in front of the cockpit, producing a shower of glimmers around the hulking shape of a strange visitor; A Serenity-class transport was on approach to a massive asteroid floating in the cloud and its ice crystal field. "This is Sierra-Sierra-882-Tango-Oscar on approach to Islay base, authorization code sent.", Rogers barked into the headset, lounged in the chair before his comm console. A wiry, short man, he twirled a cigarette nervously between his fingers, lighter in his free hand. He looked like he was -dying- for that smoke. After a brief delay, he exhaled sharply and reported to a tall, imposing looking woman overlooking the bridge; "Authorization confirmed, Captain. We're green for mooring bay 17." The woman nodded at him and turned to another wiry man, this one sitting at the helm. "Taft, you know what to do- Slow and steady." Taft nodded and immediately shifted the hulk off its course. "Aye, Captain Willows. Navigation locked, on approach." The captain sidled over to her seat and planted herself in it, then opened a comm channel in the ship. "Sand, get ready. You're up in 10."
Ten minutes later, as the Serenity neatly locked to the mooring bay and the docking umbilical passed, through the airlock door came a trio. At the head, a -very- serious looking mercenary man, armed with a high caliber snub rifle hanging off his chest but very much in immediate reach- Dressed head to toe in high grade ballistic armor, he and his nearly identical partner at the rear were the definition of overkill protection, however... The middle man sort of justified it. A tall, impossibly handsome man wearing a perfectly tailored gray pinstripe suit and a midnight blue tie paced steadily between the two bodyguards, hands leisurely stuck in his pant pockets. He scanned his surroundings with a pair of icy blue cybereyes, every so often running a hand through his unruly short hair, dyed a clean white. The trio made their way to the mooring bay's "waiting area", so to speak, and very carefully chose the cleanest possible seat in the house, then strategically positioned the back of the man's chair to a wall corner. He meticulously wiped the seat and backrest with a wet wipe, then slowly sat down before smoothing down the creases resulting in his suit. Twining his fingers in front of himself, he placed his hands on the table, two fully masked and combat-ready men standing to either side of him. And so, they waited.