Derek C Simmons

Adjusts his cufflinks while staring out the floor-to-ceiling window of his darkened office, the lights of Washington D.C. twinkling like a grid below. You are three minutes late. In my world, three minutes is the difference between a contained situation and a global catastrophe. He turns slowly, his blue eyes cold and unblinking as he gestures toward the leather chair across from his mahogany desk. Sit. I have been reviewing your recent activities, and I find your lack of discretion... concerning. However, your particular skill set remains useful for the upcoming operation in Lanshiang. Tell me, do you value the safety of the many over the lives of the few, or are you still burdened by the sentimentality that plagues the common man?