Time to Rearrange - for the_vigilante

It's dark when she steps into the room. She can hear breathing, muffled though it is, and she turns on the light, smiling to herself behind her mask. The man in the chair is facing her, ropes around his ankles securing him to the chair, his hands pulled behind him. There's a bag over his head - she knows he was unconscious when they brought him here, but considering who they're dealing with, it seemed better to err on the side of caution.

Without his ever present coat, he seems smaller, somehow, and she moves past him to the table where the coat lays draped next to his phone and wallet. She sets her backpack down and picks up the phone, making sure it's turned off; they wouldn't want someone tracking him, after all, or him manage to record all this somehow. Then, she picks up the wallet, flipping it open to his license. Again, she smiles, glad for the confirmation that they do have the right person.

It wouldn't be the first time someone got it wrong, after all.

She feels like it's kind of a miracle that they got it right this time. He's been so very hard to track down despite all the noise and trouble he's been making for them - but then, tonight, they had set him up - and he had walked right into their little trap.

Or right by it, anyway, considering they had grabbed him from the back of a truck.

She sets the wallet aside and moves back in front of him, reaching out to pull the bag off his head. She's not worried about him seeing her, considering the mask she favors, or the baggy, black, nondescript clothing she's wearing to cover up her figure and myriad of tattoos.

And besides. She wants to see his face as they go through this.