"I don't think I'm answering that. But fine, here." Lloyd handed his shotgun to the guard, and then his handgun, two knives, and his other handgun.
"Oh, that's it?"
"What do you mean, 'that's'-" Then the battleaxe on the table caught his attention. "Who the hell..."
On remarkably short notice, Agent Henry Fairfax had managed to procure a set of uniforms for the newly-minted Zoner Response Force, consisting of a dark blue topcoat with white trim, black slacks, and a white shirt. Lloyd's badge identified him as the Wing Commander of the ZRF. While they didn't want to be overly military, they needed to make their presence known on Gran Canaria.
This was reflected in how Lloyd carried himself. He wasn't just a perpetually-irritable Zoner anymore - he was a man on a mission.
Today, that mission was somewhat simple - doing his part to make sure no one screwed up Holiday's bar. He walked up to the counter and waved for the bartender.
"I need something non-alcoholic. Have to stay sober. Is Holiday here?"
